We
By Deborah A. MirandaThe people you cannot treat as people
Whose backs bent over your fields, your kitchens, your cattle, your children
We whose hands harvested the food we planted and cultivated for your mouth, your belly.
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The Where in My Belly
By Kimberly BlaeserScientists say my brain and heart
are 73 percent water—
they underestimate me.
Equinox
By Tamiko BeyerDear child of the near future,
here is what I know—hawks
soar on the updraft and sparrows always
return to the seed source until they spot
The Republic of Tenderness
By Nathan SpoonYou are living inside the cup of another life. Water
is running slowly. Somewhere a hand is overflowing
with the abundance and celebration denizens dream of.
Ode to Mennel Ibtissam singing “Hallelujah” on The Voice (France), translated in Arabic
By George Abrahammaybe if , ash & smolder way the – tongue own my in never but song this heard i've
– it birthed who fire the not & gospel become can , mouth right the in seen
I keep lighting candles on my stoop and watching the wind snuff them out
By Amy M. AlvarezI keep thinking about Breonna Taylor asleep/ between fresh sheets/ I keeping thinking/ about her skin cooling after a shower/ about her hair wrapped in a satin bonnet/ I think about what she may have dreamed that night
Bill Pay
By Janice Lobo Sapigaowe don’t know how to pay the bills on time
and we don’t know the password to your bank account
& in all of our languages I understand why you stacked
linens and face towels and rubber bands and plastic bags
in drawers and hallway closets
everything filled to the brim
Poem Resisting Arrest
By Kyle DarganThis poem is guilty. It assumed it retained
the right to ask its question after the page
came up flush against its face.
Again
By Daria-Ann MartineauI find myself noticing you again
eight years later,
you coming out of the earth, pale,
erect, shadow over men.
You can’t be buried.