Hija
By Ruth Irupé SanabriaI am the daughter of doves
That disappeared into dust
Hear my pulse whisper:
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Ruth Irupé SanabriaI am the daughter of doves
That disappeared into dust
Hear my pulse whisper:
By Lindsay VaughnWomen who are not ready we have our own ways
we take pills lie in our lovers’ beds
curled like blades of grass we wait for the writhing wind
that aches and rocks our slender bodies they whisper
By Rayna MomenUnprotected sex is a woman in America.
Unprotected sex is a woman in the world.
My body is my temple and will always be
it is not some place where you go to pray
By Tara Shea BurkeWhen we met we fell for each other like leaves.
Behind black curtains your bedroom was always dark
except for unexpected soft-yellow walls. Your dogs
By Eduardo C. CorralAre the knees & elbows
the first knots
the dead untie?
By Eduardo C. CorralA girl asleep beneath a fishing net
Sandals the color of tangerines
Off the coast of Morocco
By Joseph RossHammering on rocks
can break the hammerer's back
when stooped
By Theresa Davishoney
you are not being judged
because your bones decided
By Patricia MonaghanThey were always taught that all guns were loaded.
It was a way, he said, to keep them safe.
Don't you notice, he said, how people get shot