Hikmet: Çankiri Prison, 1938
By Joshua WeinerToday is Sunday.
Today, for the first time, they let me go out into the sun.
And I stood there I didn't move,
struck for the first time, the very first time ever:
Search Results
bitter crop
By Kelli Stevens Kaneblueberry blackberry as always
bleeding, back road or boulevard,
our boy crowned with baton,
First Morning Poem
By Allison Adelle Hedge CokeIn a room facing chimneys
over the place Nancy Morejón rests
between sleeps lining free lines
she whispers to hearing DC:
Black Site
By Jody BolzFirst, take away light.
Leave time—but make it dark,
disordered. Make it sleepless.
Not day, not night.
Past Tense
By Sam TaylorAnd someone in a field found an old car
from the year black with beetles, eaten like lace,
and the sky fell into it, a private thing.
And everyone had a kitchen or a fold-out bed
Dorothy Wordsworth
By Jennifer ChangThe daffodils can go fuck themselves.
I’m tired of their crowds, yellow rantings
about the spastic sun that shines and shines
and shines. How are they any different
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Hija
By Ruth Irupé SanabriaI am the daughter of doves
That disappeared into dust
Hear my pulse whisper:
PHOTOGRAPH—GAYLANI, BAGHDAD
By Constance NorgrenWho is she, standing just off-center,
her eyes on us, caught turning to us,
her arms folded over her chest,
The Center for the Intrepid
By Jenny BrowneWheeled onto the jet leaving
my town, another soldier
whose pruned body echoes earth
liberating itself from gravity.
River, Page
By Teresa ScollonLook how you've carried these small bodies
across the ocean, looking for the next one
to hear the story. Look how gently you laid
these children down at the fire where stories are told.