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Alexis Smithers

[Untitled]

By Alexis Smithers Standing in line, waiting to go into the Library of Congress
a black woman stands two people ahead of me and
a white security guard says to her,
It’s a beautiful day.
Azura Tyabji

Diaspora

By Azura Tyabji If the meaning of the prayer was not passed down to you,
find it through holier means than translation.
Cling to the rhythm instead.
Maren Lovey Wright-Kerr

darkskin

By Maren Lovey Wright-Kerr when the makeup aisle stops at “caramel”

it means
the makeup industry just thinks you already too pretty to need they products
Kimberly Blaeser

A Water Poem for Remembering

By Kimberly Blaeser Yes, it’s true I speak ill of the living
in coded ways divorced from the dead.
Why Lyla June fasts on capitol steps.
Emmy Pérez

excerpts from “Cajas/Boxes with Zero Tolerance”

By Emmy Pérez In 1930, my tatarabuela still spoke Rarámuri.
Detribalized now as we’ve been from Turtle Island,
south and north of the río grande, west and east
it’s no surprise that we’re still writing about
our identities, brown women regarded
as brown women, they’d say equally as if
a consolation for any.
M. Kamara

Robert E. Lee and I Have a Staring Contest

By M. Kamara And a white person says racism is dead
and a white person jokes about slavery
and a white person lives unbothered
and a white person screams about immigrants
Eve L. Ewing

it wouldn’t take much

By Eve L. Ewing This poem is in PNG format accompanied by an image description of the text.
Brandon Douglas

Deadlocked

By Brandon Douglas Scrolling thru my newsfeed
I saw a snapshot of a klansman with dreadlocks
It baffles me
How loud the white obsession is with blackness
Malik Thompson

Self-Portrait Of The Black Boi Becoming The Monster He Always Desired To Be

By Malik Thompson Midnight is my first emotion, then starscream, bloodlust—
an impulse to sink my fangs into the nearest man’s
neck. Shotgun shells explode beneath my window,
dragging me from the grip of a ragged slumber—
the winds of this rotting city drenched in gunsmoke.
Reuben Jackson

Kelly Recalls 1963

By Reuben Jackson I still call
The year 1963
Season of Nightmares
After Medgar Evers
Was killed I
Would lie awake
And wait for
My uncle Joe
To get home
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