Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Gisselle YepesAnd in twenty-five days, we make a year without
Tio Freddy alive, without his flesh inhaling
cigarettes or bud once filled with wind
like that winter after Wela died, the only winter
we got with him here, we walked
every time we linked
downstairs to smoke, to watch the trees
mirror our empty.
By Emma TrellesAfter winter rains
The hills
Are velvety beasts
We pretend
We have nothing
To worry about
Except for the usual
Minuet of dying
Scraping the corners
By Vickie VértizThe men inside the Pep Boys wear blue work shirts. Fingerprints on the hems. That’s
how I’m going to be: my hands with grease that won’t wash off. Like Apá buying Freon.
Fenders. My sister sniffs the little trees, outlines the posing girls with her eyes. We buy
peanuts and their candy turns our palms to red
By Moncho AlvaradoShe said, it's facil, look up, kiss everything,
hold the sun between your mouth,
blow like this * * * * * ****
**** * * * * **** *****
after I told her I was a woman, she wrinkled
the space between us by hugging me.
By Karla Corderoi watch slasher movies but hate the sight of real blood leave the body
i panic on planes & think of ways the machine or sky
will betray me i read books in fear to evaporate
out of this world without seeing its soft hands
By Rio CortezJust as close to living as you are to disappearing knowing
my limits you locate the tender spots without.
By Caridad Moro-Gronlierif i should
take you
to that spot
by the water
you can’t pronounce
but love
By Cintia Santanainside
a cell
a heart
(my cousin’s)
inside
his heart
(inside
a cell)
a cluster
of cells
arrested
By Aurora Levins MoralesWhy do they call us "the patient"
We are not patient. We endure.
By Adela NajarroI have learned to speak dementia
by looking straight into her eyes
smiling, laughing, then digging deep