‘I am broken by the revolt exploding inside me’
By Minal HajratwalaYour rage is pomegranates spilling open on ice, is the flute’s thin silver seam, is a volcano spitting rivulets of fire to wash clean these corrupt lands.
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Minal HajratwalaYour rage is pomegranates spilling open on ice, is the flute’s thin silver seam, is a volcano spitting rivulets of fire to wash clean these corrupt lands.
By Sarah SansoloYou wear the faded muslin—
did it begin yours or mine?
Everything we have is both.
Everything we are is both,
By Sunu P. ChandyOctober on the subway, roses at my side
kids being loud. One skinny girl
with a cap and a pretty smile
gets up to give me her seat
By Tanya OlsonWhat else should I want. But to
be a boy. A boy. At his mother’s hip.
A boy between. His father
and the plow. A boy to remain.
What else.
By Niki Herdthe black body found
next door near the house where
the blind girl lived
By Bettina JuddLucy 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
By Lindsay VaughnWomen who are not ready we have our own ways
we take pills lie in our lovers’ beds
curled like blades of grass we wait for the writhing wind
that aches and rocks our slender bodies they whisper
By Rayna MomenUnprotected sex is a woman in America.
Unprotected sex is a woman in the world.
My body is my temple and will always be
it is not some place where you go to pray
By Adele HamptonI'm not afraid to say abortion. It's a word that falls lead-heavy out of the mouth like your tongue can't handle the weight society hangs from its unassuming letters.
By Tara Shea BurkeWhen we met we fell for each other like leaves.
Behind black curtains your bedroom was always dark
except for unexpected soft-yellow walls. Your dogs