Search Results • Categories:
By TC Tolbert
In someone else’s home, 2018 February 08,
you are sitting in front of a considerable yellow mirror. Carved
into the frame of the mirror are flowers, the leaves
of which, were they solo, could be mistaken for thumb
-nails lined up at a salon waiting for the arrival of the hands
to which they should be attached. There are fish underwater
above you trying to tell the night what is coming.
By Saretta Morgan
More than a decade after being sentenced I share the news with my mom.
By Laura Tohe
My body
holds
stones
By Naomi Ortiz
base booms opposite my scooter
rattles
I am obstruction
By Pamela Alexander
We didn’t waste them. We used the trees
to build, to burn. Some jungles
got in our way, and animals, especially bears.
By Natalie Diaz
Natalie Diaz reads "Ode to the Beloved's Hips" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Natalie Diaz
In the Kashmir mountains,
my brother shot many men,
blew skulls from brown skins,
By Gowri Koneswaran
we're taught to hold hands
when we cross the street
or walk with our mothers in parking lots or