Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Ajanaé Dawkinswhat is it ‘bout the river that makes even spirits sing? we hear a laugh & don’t know if its ours or our momma’s; our sister’s or otherworld kin. what current of possibilities. we could splash, laugh, water-dance. hell, we could baptize somebody. wash the wet of us they said would stay dirty our whole lives.
By Adrian Gaston GarciaHe says that he’s too embarrassed to ask me for this favor
But in his Spanish it sounds sweeter, more innocent, almost childlike
He sets up his station at the dining room table:
A paper towel and two different set of nail clippers
He folds the paper towel in half
before placing his withered and wrinkled hands on top
He lets me hold them
I cannot remember the last time we held hands
By Lehua M. TaitanoHere are the ones I think will come: Wren, chestnut backed chickadee, hairy woodpecker, scrub jay. Words of a dream retold dissolve into pulp, into seed glue. Into chips of memory. This morning, I’ve a soft waxwing in hand. We are both stunned. His eye is cast beyond currents or cadence.
By Mia S. Williswhen the state murdered a poet
none of us slept none of us deserved to
the way we stood by with pens and phones and helpless guilt
By Jalynn HarrisAt the entrance, six copper pillars stand tall as a wave
as once did six-fingered Lucille. She lived here, too–
The light alone enough to fill the lake. I walk the park
because I’m weak. All flesh and fur needing
to get out my bark. My rough squeeze of please please
A red bird. Another mile. My feet eat the concrete.
By Ana Portnoy BrimmerThere’s so much to be learned from that which floats A patience
from the Gulf of Mexico to a sea of its name sargassum
drifts hand in hand with itself
By Raye Hendrixwhen my mother dreamed of children she pictured
things in bowls beautiful fish gracing over
brightly colored stones clear water a bowl of her favorite
fruits ceramic overflowing pears and tangerines
blueberries fat with sweet
By Jasmine Reidi spread at my touch & clit
contemplating my beauty this Monday i live
the pleasure of my fingers
how i am in-the-making by hand
by pill by needle i am the perfect girl
professor, in fact, Chemical X is my love
in gradients of acidity i am
milkless except by oats, by meal made of itself
By Gauri Awasthimy friend is dying of an invisible darkness
it’s either depression or loneliness or plain facts:
a) Her cancer-smitten grandpa wants her to marry
b) We think she’s queer, but she can’t be sure
c) She has only two reasons to live and one of them
happens to be me.
By Simon ShiehSpeaking of History
I don’t want to say too much
[ ]
Your absence made the train car redolent of history