The B-Sides of the Golden Records, Track Two: “Sounds of Human Labor”
By Sumita ChakrabortyWe may try to change the shape of your body, or the color of your skin,
or the kinds of sounds that your mouths make, to match how we think you should.
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Sumita ChakrabortyWe may try to change the shape of your body, or the color of your skin,
or the kinds of sounds that your mouths make, to match how we think you should.
By mónica teresa ortizI wake up sleepless inside a room overlooking giants//mist peeling over olive trees//clouds of pleasure
By Ashna AliOn an assemblage of screens on another firework evening
Ruthie Gilmore reminds us that abolition is not recitation.
By Hayan ChararaThe Arab apocalypse began around the year
of my birth, give or take—
the human apocalypse,
a few thousand years earlier.
By Siaara FreemanWhen I say ancestors, let’s be clear:
I mean slaves. I’m talkin’ Tennessee
cotton & Louisiana suga. I mean grave dirt.
By Allison Adelle Hedge CokeYour arm was twisted, bone exposed
face past point of wet stained,
fledgling fell there
By Michal 'MJ' JonesYou are [found] in
cherry blossom trees / heron bird flight /rib-
bon of night / space between stairs / rose
By Zefyr LisowskiWas not a monster— (His hands were soft)
Was not an abnormality— Was not just
“being a boy”— Had no reputation—
By Kateema LeeShe grew up hearing about girls
who never made it to womanhood, girls
whose names wore away with each decade
By Tobias WrayOnce done,
my father pulled
the instrument apart.