River, Page
By Teresa ScollonLook how you've carried these small bodies
across the ocean, looking for the next one
to hear the story. Look how gently you laid
these children down at the fire where stories are told.
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I Will Tell Her about Icarus
By Patricia Davisabout his sister how she
wanted
to be light
built night in her ribs
Cowgirl Filibuster
By Lisa L. MooreWord got out about the bad bill.
College students packed up their bikinis,
went back to Austin to tell those men why
‘N’em
By Jericho BrownThey said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid
Manistee Lights
By Samiya BashirBrother I don't either understand this
skipscrapple world that is--these
slick bubble cars zip feverish down
Postmark from the Transition
By Rachel M. Simonthe name altered from parent's choosing
the threshold of a home
white gloves on the windowsill
Loss is an art, traversing one world to the next
By Purvi ShahThe mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
Belly Song
By Kathleen HellenI sit in the front row of
bleachers -- cheap seats for greater grief.
My son
Rain Dance
By Rashida James-Saadiyawe scatter
dodge words that rip into flesh
hide from clenched fist
Knowing the Bomb So Well
By Patricia MonaghanAfter the nightly news and four martinis
he quietly begins to draw the inner workings
of the bomb, knowing the explosion needed