How Manifestos Are Made
By Noah Arhm ChoiIf I fail my mouth this story plays again.
Back home he yanks mama's mouth
round into screams, burns
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Loss is an art, traversing one world to the next
By Purvi ShahThe mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
Across the Street from the Whitmore Home for Girls, 1949
By Rachel McKibbensThe Mad Girls climb the wet hill,
breathe the sharp air through sick-green lungs.
The Wildest One wanders off like an old cow
Belly Song
By Kathleen HellenI sit in the front row of
bleachers -- cheap seats for greater grief.
My son
Verga
By Robin Coste LewisBefore leaving her they put stones in her vagina
The men will only be raped but the stones will be killed
The bush caught many men to go into the stones
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
Day at the Pond Without Geese
By Jeff GundyA 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.
Maine
By Carly SachsWhere does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers
Prayer of the Backhanded
By Jericho BrownNot the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God