The Such Thing As the Ridiculous Question –
By Siaara FreemanWhen I say ancestors, let’s be clear:
I mean slaves. I’m talkin’ Tennessee
cotton & Louisiana suga. I mean grave dirt.
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Siaara FreemanWhen I say ancestors, let’s be clear:
I mean slaves. I’m talkin’ Tennessee
cotton & Louisiana suga. I mean grave dirt.
By Cintia Santanainside
a cell
a heart
(my cousin’s)
inside
his heart
(inside
a cell)
a cluster
of cells
arrested
By Aurora Levins MoralesWhy do they call us "the patient"
We are not patient. We endure.
By Adela NajarroI have learned to speak dementia
by looking straight into her eyes
smiling, laughing, then digging deep
By Eugenia LeighSomeone on the internet is mourning
her dad—that old goat—with a goldmine
of anecdotes. Scraps of fondness I scrape off
her tweet—his beef wellington, her frogs. I want
By Allison Adelle Hedge CokeYour arm was twisted, bone exposed
face past point of wet stained,
fledgling fell there
By Joselia Rebekah HughesBlack able rack able
hack able tack able
lack able slack able
By Liv MammoneThe train is a creature that moves like water.
It has no eyes, only a sharp
mouth that closes on those too slow.
By David James "DJ" SavareseThe ear that hears the cardinal
hears in red;
the eye that spots the salmon