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On a Playground in Park Slope, Brooklyn a Retired Neurologist from Beijing is Cursing

By Wang Ping

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Tsunami Chant

By Wang Ping I'm not a singer, but please
let me sing of the peacemakers
on the streets and internet, your candles

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Solstice in Lhasa

By Wang Ping What more can you say
Nomad daughter of glaciers?
City has bleached the sun from your face

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poem of the week

The Day After American Samoa Is Under Water

by: Terisa Siagatonu

Google overheats in frantic frequency and the search for where exactly American Samoa // is begins. Was. Where it was. In other people’s homes, parents press / their child’s hand to the blueness of the gridded paper and pronounce Pacific

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Mo(u)rning Poem

by: Katherine E. Young

This poem understands
both the making and singing,
knows just how sound shimmers
in the grotto of throat.

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Quartering

by: Seema Reza

When he steps out to smoke a cigarette in the dark try not to see
the glowing deposits of depleted uranium beneath his skin
turning his body into a constellation of half-lives

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from Dissolve

by: Sherwin Bitsui

He then howls constellation of anchors

flung at blue birds pausing midflight

where pewter wind

creaks shut over a raft's hesitation.

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to my shaking hands

by: Ella Jaya Sran

wondering when it’ll ever be enough for them.
to knowing they care more
about the deer hunter in Oklahoma
than the millions of
children
who just want to learn--

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