Reading Tranströmer in Bangladesh
By Tarfia FaizullahIn Grandmother's house,
we are each a room that
must remain locked. Inside
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Tarfia FaizullahIn Grandmother's house,
we are each a room that
must remain locked. Inside
By Jane SeitelI wake into yet another day of doubt
creeping in as ants through a warped doorjamb.
The morning news brings new atrocities
By Nahshon CookThen he explained
how the Buddha
instructed us
to reflect on the body
By Deema K. ShehabiI could tell you that listening is made for the ashen sky,
and instead of the muezzin's voice, which lingers
like weeping at dawn,
By Marie-Elizabeth MaliPulling out of Union Square station, the subway
sounds the first three notes of There's a place for us,
somewhere a place for us. A woman sits on me, shoves
By Jericho BrownNot the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God
By Chris AbaniThe body is a nation I have never known.
The pure joy of air: the moment between leaping
from a cliff into the wall of blue below
By Allison Adelle Hedge CokeAmerica, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.
Sing back the moment you cherished breath.
Sing you home into yourself and back to reaso