Antebellum

By Gregory Pardlo Unfinished, the road turns off the fill
from the gulf coast, tracing the bay, to follow
the inland waterway.

Oil: A Love Poem

By Chris August America, don’t we love like oil?
Don’t our slippery arms
Pave the pores of those who need us?

By Jody Bolz Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.

By Jericho Brown Not the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God

By Lori Desrosiers I was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.

By Randall Horton The gavel
The splintered body
The red-neck guards

By Philip Metres In the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis

By Remica L. Bingham I enter to find all the students in uniform
occupying a small room.

By Joseph Ross If you leave your shoes
on the front porch
when you run

By Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor Bionic Feeding Woman
whips breasts out, sprays
privacy netting over him