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
Search Results
The Iraqi Nights, Section 7
By Dunya MikhailIn Iraq,
after a thousand and one nights,
someone will talk to someone else.
Markets will open
for regular customers.
america
By Fatimah Asgharam I not your baby?
brown & not allowed
my own language?
my teeth pulled
Kitchen, Donetsk
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.
Photo Albums
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
Ecclesiastes
By Khaled MattawaKhaled Mattawa performs the poem "Ecclesiastes" at the 2012 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
On a Playground in Park Slope, Brooklyn a Retired Neurologist from Beijing is Cursing
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.
dear white america
By Danez SmithDanez Smith performs "dear white america" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
The Shape of the World
By Dunya MikhailDunya Mikhail reads "The Shape of the World" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Blk Girl Art
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