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Baruch Porras-Hernandez

Ceremonias De La Superviviencia

By Baruch Porras-Hernandez at the movies my eye on the Exit sign
on the aisles the doorways the space
between the seat in front of me and my legs
how far could I crawl
before I die?
Deborah Paredez

Walls and Mirrors, Fall 1982

By Deborah Paredez The English translation of my surname is walls
misspelled, the original s turned to its mirrored
twin, the z the beginning of the sound for sleep.
Leslie McIntosh

Epistle: Disobedience Operates Across Time & Space

By Leslie McIntosh Imal, direct action protest visible from satellite is time travel, is binge-watching the future. Your optic nerves can reach where no lung has emptied, and speak back with authority, so what is the meaning of witness? Imal, when I see your lover’s face, I am seeing what it has become, in spite of you, and everyone. And what does he see?
Matt Daly

Hard Winter

By Matt Daly Everywhere I go, people are shouting
at one another, people are shaking

their fists at one another. Everywhere
I go, I see someone knapping

an edge to a stone.
Raquel Salas Rivera

desahucio / eviction

By Raquel Salas Rivera los blancos en sus casas lloran
porque han tenido que desahuciar a sus huéspedes.
los apellidos y las propiedades lloran
porque han quemado los títulos de propiedad
de los gusanos.

***
the whites cry in their houses
because they’ve had to evict the guests.
the last names and the properties cry
because they’ve burned
the worms’ deeds.
Laurie Ann Guerrero

ARS POLITICA: HOW TO MAKE ART

By Laurie Ann Guerrero You must start small as our mothers were small,
our fathers, too, small.

In a pillowcase whip-stitched with roses
or in an old coffee can, collect your abuelos’

teeth; assure them you will not bury them
near the bones of the dog that froze
Cynthia Guardado

Waiting for a Greyhound Bus at the Los Angeles Station

By Cynthia Guardado A black woman stands with two toddlers hanging off her hips.
Her balance is perfect as she pushes her luggage with one leg,

the boys curl into her shoulders unaware of how
they all slide forward. I offer her my help. Her face is serious
Patrick Rosal

Typhoon Poem

By Patrick Rosal The teacher can’t hear the children
over all this monsoon racket,
all the zillion spoons whacking
the rusty roofs, all the wicked tin streams
flipping full-grown bucks off their hooves.
Gwen Nell Westerman

Linear Process

By Gwen Nell Westerman Our elders say
the universe is a
circle.
Anthony Moll

January 20, 2017

By Anthony Moll We’re looking for that old revolutionary road again
a poet said we’d meet where the grass grows uphill.
I couldn’t think of a better way to describe America
torch in one hand, scrolling through her smart phone with the other
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