Social Distance Theory
By Ashna AliOn an assemblage of screens on another firework evening
Ruthie Gilmore reminds us that abolition is not recitation.
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To be a mother in this economy
By Erin HooverMy child babies a squeeze bottle of craft glue
or a lipstick tube filched from my purse.
She yanks a tissue from our coffee table
We
By Deborah A. MirandaThe people you cannot treat as people
Whose backs bent over your fields, your kitchens, your cattle, your children
We whose hands harvested the food we planted and cultivated for your mouth, your belly.
The Where in My Belly
By Kimberly BlaeserScientists say my brain and heart
are 73 percent water—
they underestimate me.
Hull
By Lisbeth WhiteAt the end of the field are tracks
train metal iron sound called whistle
to me a blare that splits air before it
Every Day Is A Trans Day
By H. MeltWhether it’s raining
or snowing, midnight or
you’re awaking from a nap,
working an eight hour shift
or watching reruns,
The Silver Screen Asks, “What’s Up Danger?” After We Enter
By Steven Leyvaa lobby shaped like a yawn, lined with lodestone
leftover from making the marquee. The congress
of picture shows and pulp flicks it seems
named this movie house, the Senator.
God or a Lottery Ticket in a Black Woman’s Purse
By Angelique PalmerTrying to find faith
in a world that is slowly killing me and blaming me for why they can’t do it right
or why survival might be the only thing in the way of enjoying life
water
By Lauren Mayme and all of my selves
we run like we’ve been here before
like we know what’s waiting here
and it's nothing
nothing for us
anyway