Postmark from the Transition
By Rachel M. Simonthe name altered from parent's choosing
the threshold of a home
white gloves on the windowsill
Search Results
Ma Mere n’a Jamais eu des ailes (My momma never had wings)
By Pages MatamMa Mere n'a Jamais eu des ailes
My momma never had wings
But she could tap dance on hurricanes
Prayer at Plymouth Church
By Margaret RozgaLet there be drums and harps,
piccolos and flutes, violins,
banjos and guitars.
Margins
By Heather HolligerShe and I, our silences,
hesitations--at the grocery store,
in the taxi, on the street.
poppies are not (Enough
By Daniela ElzaI drink a blood sunset down Cardinal Avenue.
my shoes soaked poppies my mind quiet as
a book with a bomb in its mouth.
American Herstory
By celeste doaksTell them it's always under attack. Tell them there's no cure
for the disease, or answer to the riddle. Tell them you asked many
before you, some who won, some who lost.
Commitment Otra Vez
By Carmen CalatayudSome generations ago,
you were a Zapatista
inside your great-grandmother's
Skintight
By Stephen ZeranceMy father hands me gifts he bought Christmas Eve:
an extra-large broadcloth and thirty-four waist khakis.
I dress different from the boys at school. My shirts fall
Special Effects
By Merna HechtThis morning I am remembering you, how as honored guest
you talked with my students who had recently arrived in America
from refugee camps where borders are stacked with blood and bullets.
Faith
By Tim SeiblesPicture a city
and the survivors: from their
windows, some scream.