When Your Word Is a Match
By Joseph RossWhen you walk past Klans-
men, smiling at you
on your way into the court
house, wondering how
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Joseph RossWhen you walk past Klans-
men, smiling at you
on your way into the court
house, wondering how
By Julie Enszerto the place where the idea
of being a pinko commie dyke
first entered her mind,
By Hayes DavisAfter their hands are washed
After their utensils are chosen
After little brother needs help
After “Get back to the table!”
By Teri Ellen Cross DavisWhen you were inside me I could feel you thrive
your rounded kicks, my body your taut drum.
Now I beat these breasts, betrayed by a landscape
that wilts, a place where even tears won’t come.
By Gordon CashYou 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 Tanya OlsonWhat else should I want. But to
be a boy. A boy. At his mother’s hip.
A boy between. His father
and the plow. A boy to remain.
What else.
By Naomi AyalaNaomi Ayala performs the poem "Within Me" at the 2008 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Cacayo BallesterosChapas is what cops are called
in my country
who threw the too tortured
in the lion pits
of the Military Academy zoo
By Myra SklarewMyra Sklarew reads "Exchange" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Julie EnszerThe painters call before we move into the new house. Ma’am, they say—
I am not old enough to be a ma’am, but I don’t correct them—
Ma’am, they say, we smell gas.
I dismiss their concern. I say, Keep painting.