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.
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Take a Giant Step
By Jose PaduaAll the out of business auto body shops
on this slow highway, all the abandoned
buildings with peeling paint, the vacant
Always Here
By Rich Villarlacking a proper entrance
into a poem
about Arizona Senate Bill 1070
we is
By Sami Mirandawe is not the singular
dotted i, black figure against
a white background.
The Red Sweater
By Joseph O. Legaspislides down into my body, soft
lambs wool, what everybody
in school is wearing, and for me
Throw Aways
By Judith RocheThey are only boys, though murderers and rapists.
Bad skin is an issue. Candy bars a treat.
Some are fathers. Few have fathers.
Autumn, New York, 1999
By Patricia Spears JonesAnd I am full of worry I wrote to a friend
Worry, she replied about what—love, money, health?
All of them, I wrote back. It’s autumn, the air is clear
In Adams Morgan, Two Years of Neighborhood-Wide Reconstruction Come to a Halt for the Night
By Naomi AyalaAnd now, where the moon
rose behind here,
three stories loom—
Build You Up
By Alison Roh ParkIf it were not so scarred from your accidental
rages—uptown, upstate—I would have rested
on the cinder block of your chest.
29 Men
By Heather DavisThe lights in your home channel 29 men, their
soot stained clothes, last breaths, crystalline sweat
let loose on black rock