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Kyle G Dargan

Natural Causes

By Kyle Dargan Naturally, the gun is purchased from a farm in Virginia—pulled from a bushel of barrels
by a tremorous hand, a young man’s. His other fist proffers sweat-wilted dollars. The
farmer, compensated, keeps his gaze down as to remember nothing of the boy’s face.
Elexia Alleyne

The Love for My Culture

By Elexia Alleyne Maybe it’s the Spanish running through my veins
That’s the only way I know how to explain it
Maybe it’s the r’s rrrolling off my tongue
See,
Lauren K. Alleyne

Self Portrait with NeoNazi Demonstration

By Lauren K. Alleyne Just like that the day is black
and blue, bruised with hate.
Just like that my skin, black
as fine leather stretches so tight
Heidi Andrea Restrepo Rhodes

Til the Taste of Free in Our Mouths (Brown Baby Lullaby)

By Heidi Andrea Restrepo Rhodes Wake. Wake.
These the nights we sing. These the folds,
unborn reverie, ambition marbled mud & shine,
raging anthem born like diamonds out darkest ash & rain
Mahogany L. Browne

Ego-Tripp(ed)

By Mahogany L. Browne & then the poet became G_D/like
just’a rolling his tongue everywhere
like G O D must’ve
when the earth got birth(ed) & even
Rebecca Black

School of the Americas

By Rebecca Black Sergio has ink-pot eyes, girlish wrists.
He draws superheroes extremely well—
Avengers, Wolfman, El Toro Rojo,
Hari Alluri

The Opposite of Holding in Breath—

By Hari Alluri the tea in her glass. It glows the brocade.
Her grandmother picked that tea
on a mountain—a mountain in a war
whose shores were her bed. Steeping, the petals
Vincent Toro

Nonstop from Fruitvale to Ursa Major: Threnody for Los Desaparecidos* of The United States

By Vincent Toro A lung lit like diesel
is not fable or fodder.

Is not sewage siphoned from stern
and starboard. Cuffs, not slapdash plums
plunge from your garden
Kazumi Chin

The Last New Year’s Resolution

By Kazumi Chin The very last mammoth was just like the others,
except more lonely. The very last tortilla chip
makes me feel guilty.The very last line
of the poem changes everything about
Carlos Andrés Gómez

Juan Valdez (or Why is a white guy like you named “Carlos”?)

By Carlos Andrés Gómez
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