History
By Juan Carlos GaleanoIn the north we hunted many buffalo
whose lard warmed us all winter.
But in the jungle they told us that to bring more light
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Juan Carlos GaleanoIn the north we hunted many buffalo
whose lard warmed us all winter.
But in the jungle they told us that to bring more light
By Linda HoganWe had been together so very long,
you willing to swim with me
just last month, myself merely small
By T. J. Jarrettits ruthless syntax, and the ease with which it interjects
itself into our days. I thought how best to explain this—
this dark winter, but that wasn’t it, or beds unshared
but that isn’t exactly it either, until I remembered
By Hermine PinsonMother
Slipper
July
“ I will ask you to recall these words
at the end of our session”
By Danez SmithI am sick of writing this poem
but bring the boy. his new name
his same old body. ordinary, black
dead thing. bring him & we will mourn
By Ruth Irupé SanabriaI am the daughter of doves
That disappeared into dust
Hear my pulse whisper:
By Christi KramerKnowing the tribal leader loved people who fear God and received
priests graciously
whatever time they called,
the president had bombs sewn into the clothes of two priests.
By Sue D. BurtonToday it’s Hopkins and his obscure spiritual contraptions –
everything I read is heart-corseted, like a concealable vest,
police surplus good as new. Some fanatic is packing a gun.
By Genie AbramsC’mon c’mon c’mon. Let’s do this thing! “Two or three minutes,” my ass. It’s been five minutes already! Where are they? How long
are you supposed to hang out in this frickin’ waiting room?
By Bridget KrinerThis is what I know about being a woman:
My body is coursing with estrogen,
I have a uterus, my breasts fit into bras
that are fashionable, men look at them.