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Pages d. Matam

Ma Mere n’a Jamais eu des ailes (My momma never had wings)

By Pages Matam Ma Mere n'a Jamais eu des ailes
My momma never had wings
But she could tap dance on hurricanes
Purvi Shah

Loss is an art, traversing one world to the next

By Purvi Shah The mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
Joseph Ross

In a Summer of Snipers

By Joseph Ross In a summer of snipers
some men raised their hands
with fingers pressed
Joseph O. Legaspi

The Red Sweater

By Joseph O. Legaspi slides down into my body, soft
lambs wool, what everybody
in school is wearing, and for me
Holly Bass

The Furious Dance

By Holly Bass What is a furious dance?
It is not polite.
Does not shuck and jive or shuffle along.
Kenneth Carroll

A People’s Historian

By Kenneth Carroll who will come to tell us what we know
that the king’s clothes are soiled with
the history of our blood and sweat
Philip Metres

For the Fifty (Who Formed PEACE With Their Bodies)

By Philip Metres In the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis
David Keplinger

Wave

By David Keplinger Lincoln, leaving Springfield, 1861,
Boards a train with a salute: but it is weak.
To correct it, he slides his hand away
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