Loss is an art, traversing one world to the next
By Purvi ShahThe mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
Search Results
factory work: made in china.
By Meg EdenI look for a man's hand inside
the folds of my purse, and find
a pattern that recalls a finger print, the way
In a Summer of Snipers
By Joseph RossIn a summer of snipers
some men raised their hands
with fingers pressed
Arthritis is one thing, the hurting another
By Camille T. DungyThe poet's hands degenerate until her cup is too heavy.
You are not required to understand.
This is not the year for understanding.
Making History
By Marilyn NelsonSomebody took a picture of a class
standing in line to get polio shots,
and published it in the Weekly Reader.
Let Daylight Come (Little Rock, circa 2008)
By Antoinette BrimLet the moon untangle itself
from the clothesline, as coming daylight
diminishes its lamp to memory.
Portrait of Hippocrates, or Buqrat
By Kim RobertsO augury seeker,
know and be aware...
In the book of divination,
Halim, waiting
By Kathleen O'TooleHe arrived first as a student of geology
in the bicentennial year.
He witnessed
Can Safety Matches Make Us Safe?
By Judith ArcanaYou read the tiny cardboard book before
you scratch the strip under Augie's New Pizza
on the back of MIA:We still don't know