a poem about abortion
By Devi K. LockwoodNo, 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.
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Devi K. LockwoodNo, 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.
By Tara Shea BurkeWhen we met we fell for each other like leaves.
Behind black curtains your bedroom was always dark
except for unexpected soft-yellow walls. Your dogs
By David-Matthew BarnesI remember the rhythm at night:
Your hips wanting mine,
to grind our street-smart
By Don ShareJuly kindles the redneck in me.
I blaze down Interstates
that are viaducts for my beery nerves
By Patricia Davisabout his sister how she
wanted
to be light
built night in her ribs
By Nicholas SamarasWhat is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
By Pablo Miguel Martinezthe math of dance
the math of breath
counting 4 / 4
By Elizabeth AcevedoRob, my heart is a peeled clementine and I don't wince
anymore when you stick your thumb in the hollow middle,
pull apart. You don't even swallow these pieces
By celeste doaksAaron and Anita, the first real twins I ever personally knew,
drum majored our ragged band in high school called--
the Marching LaSalle Lions. Anita was the outgoing,