The World Where It Is
By Beth SpencerIn the atrium of the principal church
in a certain Irish city
it is said a girl can find beneath a bench
among the tea roses the name of an abortionist.
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Don’t Even Pretend (The Saturn Poem)
By Peter J. HarrisSaturn's rings was all nappy
spread out from her head
like she just woke up
took a shower & aint dried them yet
not an elegy for Mike Brown
By Danez SmithI am sick of writing this poem
but bring the boy. his new name
his same old body. ordinary, black
dead thing. bring him & we will mourn
Migration Patterns
By Sara BrickmanOwosso, Michigan is cinder blocks
stacked on top of potato cellars and steamrolled
grey. There’s a lot of corn,
Ways to Count the Dead
By Persis M. KarimTake their limbs strewn about the streets—
multiply by a thousand and one.
Ask everyone in Baghdad who has lost
from “Offering”
By Shailja Patelsing history
back onto itself, sing tearing
whole again, sing altered
juxtaposing the black boy & the bullet
By Danez Smithone is hard & the other tried to be
one is fast & the other was faster
one is loud & one is a song
Eighteenth Century Remains
By Tess TaylorThe ridge a half mile down from Monticello.
A pit cut deeper than the plow line.
Archaeologists plot the dig by scanning