Arthritis is one thing, the hurting another
By Camille T. DungyThe poet's hands degenerate until her cup is too heavy.
You are not required to understand.
This is not the year for understanding.
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I Will Not
By Kathy Engelwrite about the killing of Troy Davis or
the years he claimed innocence so many times
the words fell from his mouth like drops of honey.
Migrant Earth
By Deema K. ShehabiI could tell you that listening is made for the ashen sky,
and instead of the muezzin's voice, which lingers
like weeping at dawn,
Poets Against the War
By Susan BrennanWe stand at the Capitol
seized in snapshots
of curious tourists
Humor Difficult to Translate
By Zara HoushmandThe label says Afghan Comedian
and nothing more, no artist, no provenance,
just a monitor’s unlidded eye embedded
Always Here
By Rich Villarlacking a proper entrance
into a poem
about Arizona Senate Bill 1070
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
The Furious Dance
By Holly BassWhat is a furious dance?
It is not polite.
Does not shuck and jive or shuffle along.
Mutanabbi Street
By Jody BolzPages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.