How to make love to your beloved when she grew from rape
By Sarah Maria MedinaLearn to attend the fire, learn that breath between stones & flames lets the fire burn. Notice her breath, give her breath from your mouth, heated from your pink tongue.
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I Don’t Know Any Longer Why the Flags Are At Half-Staff
By Hanif Willis-AbdurraqibI think I am breaking up with memory. again. I live
by only that which will still allow me
to do the living. The flag, for example, reminds me
to either feel fear or sadness, depending on how high
origin stories (reprise)
By Safia Elhilloi was born in the winter in 1990 in a country not my own
i was born with my father’s eyes maybe i stole them he
doesn’t look like that anymore i was born
in seven countries i was born carved up by borders
solidarity work :: imperfection
By Oliver Baez BendorfThe new perfection is imperfection.
I’m striving for it in all things great and small.
Stray from the recipe. Hit send. Risk it.
Leave the art a little crooked on the wall.
Old Blood
By Jennifer Maritza McCauleyBefore they tell us how to look
at our kilt brothers' bodies:
Tell them we already know how to see ‘em.
Your Rapist is on Paid Administrative Leave
By Tafisha A. Edwards4. Your rapist has elected to continue receiving his bi-weekly paychecks via direct
deposit. Your rapist has elected not to cash out his 401K for fear of incurring
penalties. Your rapist recently called HR to review his health care coverage—
open enrollment will begin in a few short months and coverage options
are changing.
Too Pretty
By Sunu P. ChandyOctober on the subway, roses at my side
kids being loud. One skinny girl
with a cap and a pretty smile
gets up to give me her seat
God Is Brown
By Lorenzo Herrera y LozanoBrown is the color of my god’s skin.
Gentle, curvy, older than a Spanish whip.
My god abides outside of sin,
no water needed to baptize the newly born.
Saturday, 9:30am
By Hayes DavisAfter their hands are washed
After their utensils are chosen
After little brother needs help
After “Get back to the table!”
Drought
By Teri Ellen Cross DavisWhen you were inside me I could feel you thrive
your rounded kicks, my body your taut drum.
Now I beat these breasts, betrayed by a landscape
that wilts, a place where even tears won’t come.