Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
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 Demetrice Anntía WorleyOn this eve of the dead, I cry out loud,
“por favor Virgen de Guadalupe, don’t
forsake me,” before I open the door,
before I see la policía flat
By Teresa ScollonLook how you've carried these small bodies
across the ocean, looking for the next one
to hear the story. Look how gently you laid
these children down at the fire where stories are told.
By Persis M. KarimTake their limbs strewn about the streets—
multiply by a thousand and one.
Ask everyone in Baghdad who has lost
By Don ShareJuly kindles the redneck in me.
I blaze down Interstates
that are viaducts for my beery nerves
By Gretchen Primackand there was a dog, precisely the colors of autumn,
asleep between two trunks by the trail.
But it was a coyote, paws pink
By David Tomas MartinezIt's not water to wine to swallow harm,
though many of us have,
and changing the name