Skip to Content
Remica L. Bingham The weight of my parents,
the dawn of them;
my grandmother's lackluster
Adam Wiedewitsch in blue earth, among willows, aisles
of box-elder, elms, in the silence between
on the sand-bar in front
Brian Fanelli Every Sunday, I came dressed in punk rocker black,
checkered pants, steel-toed Docs.
No tie dye on me when I joined
celeste doaks Tell them it's always under attack. Tell them there's no cure
for the disease, or answer to the riddle. Tell them you asked many
before you, some who won, some who lost.
Carmen Calatayud Some generations ago,
you were a Zapatista
inside your great-grandmother's
Cathy Lihn Che I see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.
DaMaris B. Hill I dream of hounds. Their teeth loose in my veins.
Their howls consume me. They growl and feast.
She whispers not to run. I can't refrain.
Zohra Saed Behave or the sleeping Alexander will reclaim your lungs.
Was once a cube of sugar
Carolee Bennett Sherwood They build boxes upon boxes, great honeycomb cities. Rumbling
trucks deliver parcels of pollen. Pretzel vendors leave good luck
trails of salt along the sidewalks. Busy taxi cab tongues lick up
Ellen Hagan the ones who brought your father here, come. Bring
with them whole almonds, dried berries & clementines
wrapped in cloth. Their clothes & smart shoes too.