Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By leena aboutalebThe genesis of this story is. A person on fire. My father drives us to my brother’s grave and I begin to cry seeing a mole trying to cross the heavied street, flush with human monstrosity. Bloomberg announces empire war supply and demand 1% increase chips SpaceX government approach dig tunnels over a century potential military tool big line of business. On the way to the graveyard, I tell my father we have no right. This country was a mistake.
By Janine Mogannam“I’m
pretty awful, all things considered. A few weeks ago
I couldn’t eat anything and now I’m constantly starving.
I know that’s a terrible thing to say.
I think my house plants might be dying but I’m not really sure?
They’re sad and limp-necked. I guess that’s a metaphor.
By Kyle Carrero LopezIn 1994, U.S. Senator Bob Torricelli (D-New Jersey) introduced the Cuban Democracy Act, designed to “wreak havoc on that island.”
I’ll wreak havoc on that island I’ll ravage
that island I’ll plunder
that island see torn asunder that island
By Ghinwa Jawhariwho loved my mother owned a shop on almira street & hung
among the glamorous posters of arabic singers, a black-and-white
photograph of muhammad al-durrah’s murder.
By Samah Serour Fadilit’s never enough to simply exist as humans
lands get involved
between folds of skin & folds of a bill
it’s funny how money changes situations
twists straight roads ahead to fit lie into truth
By Sarah AudsleyYou will return to the temple, swept clean,
tea sprouting in rows, clappers of bells ringing out
as incense burn at the foot of the golden Buddha.
By Sahar MuradiK says what fell?
R says prices have shot up
I says our people did not fall
M says we have so much more to lose if we leave
R says the gardens are still awash in green
N says he was arrested
S says he is still dubbing films, just quietly
R says a mother sits in the road shrieking at every passing car
By Moncho AlvaradoAgain people are being taken away,
I read the news of kids
like your daughter & son,
like our family, our neighbors,
they wake in a state of temporary,
that lasts longer & longer &
longer than we can remember.
By Angela María SpringThough the jam did not set, great chunks of purple-black in jars
placed as offerings behind the kitchen counter butcher block
homemade experiment by my Central American-born mamá, who warned
us to keep a stern eye out, said you invade, take over swiftly
and she was right as our desert—so unlike the humid, temperate climes from which
you first emerged—urges you grow fast to claim any water to be found,
yet as a tree you are migrant/immigrant like us so of course Tucson
banned your presence as Arizona pulled Latinx books from schools
By antmen pimentel mendozaThe memory palace has an all gender bathroom
and I’m not the middle figure in the half-skirt,
half-pants chimera outfit, but I do like to piss
in a single-stall situation. On the couch
is the heavy blanket that kept me Catholic. Going
up the stairs is an act of poise and in the kitchen
is a lemon, wedged and pledged. Under the bed
is the laser printed felt, the earrings I drew
onto my lobes and my cheeks flush, burning.