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Abdul Ali

Amistad

By Abdul Ali My father and I run into each other at the edge of Lower Manhattan,
World Trade Center, where there’s a movie house.

We tiptoe down the slope, making our way to our seats.
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Jennifer Chang

Dorothy Wordsworth

By Jennifer Chang The daffodils can go fuck themselves.
I’m tired of their crowds, yellow rantings
about the spastic sun that shines and shines
and shines. How are they any different
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Three Patients, One Morning

By Genie Abrams C’mon c’mon c’mon. Let’s do this thing! “Two or three minutes,” my ass. It’s been five minutes already! Where are they? How long
are you supposed to hang out in this frickin’ waiting room?
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Women vs. Ernie

By Bridget Kriner This is what I know about being a woman:
My body is coursing with estrogen,
I have a uterus, my breasts fit into bras
that are fashionable, men look at them.
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Maya Pindyck

Baby of the Month

By Maya Pindyck My friend tells me she just saw October Baby,
a movie about a woman who finds out she was
almost aborted—“abortion survivor,” she calls herself.
I ask my friend if she’s seen the newest flick,
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Above Average

By Lindsay Vaughn Women who are not ready we have our own ways

we take pills lie in our lovers’ beds

curled like blades of grass we wait for the writhing wind

that aches and rocks our slender bodies they whisper
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My Sister

By Devreaux Baker Last night my sister came to my table

Trailing stories from the other world

Trailing remnants of all our mother’s people

She spoke words that fell from her mouth
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Rayna Momen

Temple

By Rayna Momen Unprotected sex is a woman in America.

Unprotected sex is a woman in the world.

My body is my temple and will always be

it is not some place where you go to pray
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a poem about abortion

By Devi K. Lockwood No, not scrubs. Put on your tight purple dress and heels,
dig them into the new carpet. You have to look gorgeous,
that way they’ll trust you. And the patients start pouring in.
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Sara Brickman

Migration Patterns

By Sara Brickman Owosso, Michigan is cinder blocks
stacked on top of potato cellars and steamrolled
grey. There’s a lot of corn,
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