Skip to Content
Tobias Wray Once done,
my father pulled
the instrument apart.
Lisbeth White At the end of the field are tracks
train metal iron sound called whistle
to me a blare that splits air before it
Azura Tyabji If the meaning of the prayer was not passed down to you,
find it through holier means than translation.
Cling to the rhythm instead.
Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha I wish you swift wind.
I wish you a changed phone number
that stays changed.
Ching-In Chen My people – I see you across street, porch people, huddled under brick archway, watching what pours from sky. Wading in water, what circuits it carries – mostly numb, small, what might feel like circuit’s end.
Laura Da' I do desire—Chillicothe, Piqua, Lima
that you remain—Shawnee, Lawrence, Olathe
Wyandotte, Tecumseh—on the other side
Junction City, Fort Leavenworth, Lenexa—
of the river.
Ely Shipley The neck of the guitar stretches
out, every other fret painted with a sharp
dot or dash, flash after flash
of reflected light, marble or pearl, the shape
of a fingerprint, ...
Tara Hardy They call it dissociation.
I call it THE NINE (children)
who live inside me.
Each of them encased
in amber, frozen in a mosquito-pose
Lena Khalaf Tuffaha Behind the walls of your jails we wait
heartbeats audible now, muffled thuds
above the current of blood running thin
Anastacia-Renee the cedar tree could not comprehend
the crime could not comprehend a leaning
a lynching a love gone wrong