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By Darrel Alejandro Holnes
In the film, both parents are Mexicans as white as
a Gitano’s bolero sung by an indigena accompanied by the Moor’s guitar
bleached by this American continent’s celluloid in 1948
when in America the world’s colors were polarized into black & blanco.
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
By Caits Meissner
I am 13 hours in the future & it is night / the rain is holding her breath
my friend, isn’t Penang opening to us! / a lotus unveiling a carnival
the paper lanterns are skirts / or balls pushed along by tiger’s nose
our smoke is a canon / dare devil on its way to an unnamed star
By Fatimah Asghar
am I not your baby?
brown & not allowed
my own language?
my teeth pulled
By Fady Joudah
Does consciousness exist only when
you name it? Was the double helix a
stranger, the nucleus the first brain?
I feel therefore I am. This is more
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
By Aracelis Girmay
Beloved, to
day you eat,
today you bathe, today
you laugh
By Katy Richey
must be tight
spiral wound
corset of rope
be body and
undertaker be
By Jan Beatty
I see you’re publishing:
straightman/straightman/white white white how
nice.
Are you kidding me?
By Dominique Christina
When the sun is pitiless
When the girl is a gust of get out fast
When the boys are forced to mingle with the forest
When the baby, still nursing leaves her mother