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Camisha Jones

Ode to the Chronically Ill Body

By Camisha Jones This body is one long moan

My feet a landscape of mines
My legs two full pails of water I spill
at the weight of
My back where the sharpest knives are kept
My hands a scatter of matches ready to spark into flame
Marilyn Nelson

Millie Christine

By Marilyn Nelson Marilyn Nelson performs the poem "Millie Christine" at the 2012 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
L. Lamar Wilson

A Patch of Blue in Tenleytown

By L. Lamar Wilson She ambles about this Mickey-Dee kitchen’s din,
unmoved by the hot grease threatening
her ¿puedo tomar su orden? mask.
Bettina Judd

THE INAUGURATION OF EXPERIMENTS, December 1845

By Bettina Judd Lucy didn’t scream like most. Though sometimes she
would moan--deep, long and overdue. I’d wake
thinking death. It’s her, knees curled under, head face
down, her body trying to move out of itself. Anarcha
Leona Sevick

White

By Leona Sevick Instead, I spotted our mother in a tiny
chair in the back row, her blue-black head
shining unnaturally. She was dressed in

Latin Freestyle

By David-Matthew Barnes I remember the rhythm at night:

Your hips wanting mine,
to grind our street-smart
Susan Scheid

When We Ruled the World

By Susan Scheid There we stood, dressed like Egyptians
or what we thought Egyptians should look like
from all our National Geographic magazines.
Truth Thomas

Sunday Kind of Love

By Truth Thomas Shayna reads the Word and takes
the story of that first miracle as
serious as unpaid electric bills in
winter
Emily K. Bright

Community

By Emily K. Bright It is nearly midnight and I'm
scrubbing at the grout.
The dishes, washed,
Margaret Rozga

Prayer at Plymouth Church

By Margaret Rozga Let there be drums and harps,
piccolos and flutes, violins,
banjos and guitars.
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