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Jan Beatty

Dear American Poetry,

By Jan Beatty I see you’re publishing:
straightman/straightman/white white white how
nice.

Are you kidding me?
Geffrey Davis

What I Mean When I Say Truck Driver

By Geffrey Davis During the last 50 miles back from haul & some
months past my 15th birthday, my father fishes
a stuffed polar bear from a Salvation Army
gift-bin, labeled Boys: 6-10. I can almost see him
Bobbi Johnson

Untitled Spoken Word

By Bobbi Johnson
Rachel McKibbens

Tom Boy

By Rachel McKibbens
Sonia Sanchez

Poem for Split This Rock

By Sonia Sanchez
Carolyn Forché

The Museum of Stones

By Carolyn Forché These are your stones, assembled in matchbox and tin,
collected from roadside, culvert, and viaduct,
battlefield, threshing floor, basilica, abattoir–
stones, loosened by tanks in the streets
Aracelis Girmay

Break

By Aracelis Girmay When the boys are carnivals
we gather round them in the dark room
& they make their noise while drums
ricochet against their bodies & thin air
Jamila Woods

Blk Girl Art

By Jamila Woods Poems are bullshit unless they are eyeglasses, honey
tea with lemon, hot water bottles on tummies. I want
poems my grandma wants to tell the ladies at church
about. I want orange potato words soaking in the pot
Amina Iro

26

By Amina Iro
Beth Spencer

The World Where It Is

By Beth Spencer In the atrium of the principal church
in a certain Irish city
it is said a girl can find beneath a bench
among the tea roses the name of an abortionist.
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