ode to the puritan in me
By Ross GayThere is a puritan in me
the brim of whose
hat is so sharp
it could cut
your tongue out
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Ross GayThere is a puritan in me
the brim of whose
hat is so sharp
it could cut
your tongue out
By Dunya MikhailIn Iraq,
after a thousand and one nights,
someone will talk to someone else.
Markets will open
for regular customers.
By Fatimah Asgharam I not your baby?
brown & not allowed
my own language?
my teeth pulled
By Susanna LangShe had planned to offer peaches with the tea.
August was warm; the fruit had ripened to perfection.
She’d placed two paring knives on the cutting board,
set out the teapot with nasturtiums painted on the side.
By Fatimah AsgharThe names of my family members swirl
like dust in my lungs. I try to write about birds
& only pull from my pen animal skin.
My bones alive & a lament of dignified grief
By Khaled MattawaKhaled Mattawa performs the poem "Ecclesiastes" at the 2012 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Wang PingWang Ping reads "On a Playground in Park Slope, Brooklyn a Retired Neurologist from Beijing is Cursing" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Danez SmithDanez Smith performs "dear white america" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Dunya MikhailDunya Mikhail reads "The Shape of the World" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Jamila WoodsPoems are bullshit unless they are eyeglasses, honey
tea with lemon, hot water bottles on tummies. I want
poems my grandma wants to tell the ladies at church
about. I want orange potato words soaking in the pot