from UNDERGROUND
By GoldenAs in homonym,
humming with the cedars,
spitting spring
to claim a stasis, a season.
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By GoldenAs in homonym,
humming with the cedars,
spitting spring
to claim a stasis, a season.
By Gbenga AdesinaNorth of the country, a road led to the desert.
Dust was the first sentence. The Sahara
was a white darkness in the distance,
and beyond it the glint of a Great Lake.
We drove past fields of ginger and wild purple onions.
There was a public garden and a ring of white egrets
around still water.
By Sacha Marvin HodgesI have a fear
so metal
it makes traffic
By Jorrell WatkinsWe shark mouthed, crusty lip, ashy ankle, hairline vanished, brothas
High water sportin’, reebok rockin’, nobody’s name brand brothas.
By Maricielo Ampudia GutiérrezWith each finger, I pressed on black ink, and one by one placed them on the transmitting screen. Following instruction, I rolled each finger, left to right, and slow—every quarter inch of skin recorded. On the display, perfect fingerprints glowing.
By Azia ArmsteadWe wait for the show to begin in an open field on a blazing summer night.
Fireworks are most lucent in the blackness of a sky with no sun which
makes me think of blackness as a metaphor, how colors shine brightest
when contrasted against it.
By Claudia Rojas(We) DMV centers will see and take less of us.
We
(are) We will not miss a day of work or school
By M. KamaraAnd a white person says racism is dead
and a white person jokes about slavery
and a white person lives unbothered
and a white person screams about immigrants
By Marjan NaderiIn first grade, I told kids my name was Sarah.
Saw the way Sarah lifted the curtain
But never cleared the confusion
white enough for no one to ask questions.
By Angelique PalmerTrying to find faith
in a world that is slowly killing me and blaming me for why they can’t do it right
or why survival might be the only thing in the way of enjoying life