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Paulette Beete Orlando Jones, a black actor, douses himself
in a bucket of bullets. I flinch. Bullet against
brown skin even without the bruised and
busted aftermath is no easy thing to bear.
Ilya Kaminsky I watched a sergeant aim, the deaf boy take iron and fire in his mouth—
his face on the asphalt,
that map of bone and opened valves.
It’s the air. Something in the air wants us too much
Amanda Gorman There’s a poem in this place—
in the footfalls in the halls
in the quiet beat of the seats.
It is here, at the curtain of day,
Truth Thomas There are fists making tom toms of eardrums,
boots kicking downbeats in skulls,
in every state of tinted circles.
Andrea Assaf This is a video poem.
Trace DePass [And legal] now.
[Taking full advantage of the enough he is.
Might go sign up for the war.
Purvi Shah You had a name no one
could hold between their
teeth. So they pronounced
Anastacia-Renee the cedar tree could not comprehend
the crime could not comprehend a leaning
a lynching a love gone wrong
Purvi Shah Under sky massaged by sun, from a comfortable chair, I watch
the rain stroke a myrtle tree. Naked
rain, my father says. Naked,
Keith Wilson shall i tell you, then, that we exist?
there came a light, blue and white careening,
the police like wailing angels
to bitter me.