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
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The Pinko Commie Dyke Returns
By Julie Enszerto the place where the idea
of being a pinko commie dyke
first entered her mind,
Saturday, 9:30am
By Hayes DavisAfter their hands are washed
After their utensils are chosen
After little brother needs help
After “Get back to the table!”
Drought
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.
And Still They Come (for Dr. Sue)
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
what else
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.
Within Me
By Naomi AyalaNaomi Ayala performs the poem "Within Me" at the 2008 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
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Any Given Name
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
Exchange
By Myra SklarewMyra Sklarew reads "Exchange" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Zyklon B
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.