Skip to Content
Search Results
Sami Miranda

we is

By Sami Miranda we is not the singular
dotted i, black figure against
a white background.
Joseph O. Legaspi

The Red Sweater

By Joseph O. Legaspi slides down into my body, soft
lambs wool, what everybody
in school is wearing, and for me
Kazim Ali

Road at Ache

By Kazim Ali I was whispered along the road at Ache
toward the sun-puddled gate
Jose Padua

A Portrait of America in Trash

By Jose Padua I give to you a portrait of America in trash.
I give it to you with love and respect, America:
mountains of beer cans crumpled, plastic figures
Mark Doty

Charlie Howard’s Descent

By Mark Doty Between the bridge and the river
he falls through
a huge portion of night
Jeff Gundy

Day at the Pond Without Geese

By Jeff Gundy A good day for late wildflowers--daisies and burrs
leaned out into the path for a better view, brilliant
blue somethings with tiny blooms on tall stalks.
Gregory Pardlo

Antebellum

By Gregory Pardlo Unfinished, the road turns off the fill
from the gulf coast, tracing the bay, to follow
the inland waterway.
Chris August

Oil: A Love Poem

By Chris August America, don’t we love like oil?
Don’t our slippery arms
Pave the pores of those who need us?
Jericho Brown

Prayer of the Backhanded

By Jericho Brown Not the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God
Randall Horton

Note from a Prodigal Son III

By Randall Horton The gavel
The splintered body
The red-neck guards
Page 14 of 15 pages