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By Faylita Hicks
Crawling out from between the legs of a woman
with my name still wetly slathered across her chin,
I cradle the lewd silk of our venom
up against the hot swell of my caged chest, wade out
through her front door, into the murky billows
of the damned and the damnable,
By Rio Cortez
Just as close to living as you are to disappearing knowing
my limits you locate the tender spots without.
By Peggy Robles-Alvarado
She insists three kids are more than enough
Puerto Rican Tías are missing wombs
Tells me I’m still young, more than “just a mom”
By Shauna M. Morgan
tell her the new fragrance is nice but she doesn’t have to bathe in it
assert that sarcasm is a talent
tell her that her salwar or lappa is weird and take her to the mall for khakis
do so until she stops wearing that colorful garb
By Tatiana Figueroa Ramirez
I wake up to the alarm clocks
of cocks & gallinas struggling
for their corner of the callejón.
Step out
on the preheated concrete.
By Purvi Shah
You had a name no one
could hold between their
teeth. So they pronounced
By Sylvia Beato
for years you told no one
how you cried yourself to sleep
after the doctor held your hand
By Barbara Costas-Biggs
Before I was grown and called lovers
lovers. Before I was a mother and called
momma. Before I considered myself anything
By Gordon Cash
You scream your bullhorn lies, intimidate,
Harass, respect no law of man. You speak
Of scalpels, sutures, and sterility,
Dismemberment, death by regret, all lies,
And bear false witness with each one against
By Catherine Klatzker
The world was always a place of silence,
of congenital shame—even before those days
in 1967, four years before you met your love. Your
strength grew belatedly, fertilized as it was in the
knowledge that you were nothing. Your life did
not matter to anyone, except to hurt you.