Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Amir McClamWhen my need for care moves from six
weeks to eternity, who can keep up?
Unknotting my hamstrings, beloved soothes
“you refuse to be rushed,” says it's something
they admire. If only they knew: when given a choice
need or fear— sometimes I’m wrong.
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By Arianna Monetand I keep mistaking the screen for a
mirror. By which I mean, I too was once
adolescent and unconquerable:
purple hair; a body unmarked by pain.
Then, the bright unholiness of onset.
By MT VallartaWe braid her hair, every strand a thread
of flesh. We caress her from mouth
to root, feeling every tale—every tree,
every cliff—nestled in her folds.
By Ina Cariñowhen I turn seventy & you are gone,
will my muscles still heft with ease
a crate of summer figs---one
bruised fig for every year of my life---
from the tree in your backyard?
By Tala KhanmalekOn a table in the corner of Lollipop Shoppe, I face the crowd and dance. I look toward a circle of new friends by the bar. Most of us just met six days ago yet we share, I think, the sole familiar between strangers: brutality. I listen with my hands. Arms overhead, conjuring.