Rain Dance

By Rashida James-Saadiya we scatter
dodge words that rip into flesh
hide from clenched fist

The Red Sweater

By Joseph O. Legaspi slides down into my body, soft
lambs wool, what everybody
in school is wearing, and for me

By Judith Roche They are only boys, though murderers and rapists.
Bad skin is an issue. Candy bars a treat.
Some are fathers. Few have fathers.

By Patricia Monaghan After the nightly news and four martinis
he quietly begins to draw the inner workings
of the bomb, knowing the explosion needed

By Jaime Lee Jarvis Was it the rush of words in that language
we understood only when we cocked our heads,
speaking on the slant, slurring our way

By Jericho Brown Not the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God

By Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor Bionic Feeding Woman
whips breasts out, sprays
privacy netting over him