Exchange
By Myra SklarewMyra Sklarew reads "Exchange" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
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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.
White
By Leona SevickInstead, I spotted our mother in a tiny
chair in the back row, her blue-black head
shining unnaturally. She was dressed in
No. 13, for Remembering
By Naomi AyalaTwo blocks away
where yellow cabs
zip by without stopping
Infinite Regress of War
By Myra SklarewIn the mirror of infinite regress
go back. Go back to Vietnam. To a man
who can spot a trip wire fine as a hair,
Hammering on Rocks
By Joseph RossHammering on rocks
can break the hammerer's back
when stooped
Sunday Kind of Love
By Truth ThomasShayna reads the Word and takes
the story of that first miracle as
serious as unpaid electric bills in
winter
factory work: made in china.
By Meg EdenI look for a man's hand inside
the folds of my purse, and find
a pattern that recalls a finger print, the way
In a Summer of Snipers
By Joseph RossIn a summer of snipers
some men raised their hands
with fingers pressed