Amistad
By Abdul AliMy father and I run into each other at the edge of Lower Manhattan,
World Trade Center, where there’s a movie house.
We tiptoe down the slope, making our way to our seats.
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Past Tense
By Sam TaylorAnd someone in a field found an old car
from the year black with beetles, eaten like lace,
and the sky fell into it, a private thing.
And everyone had a kitchen or a fold-out bed
Amphibians
By Joseph O. LegaspiAmphibians live in both.
Immigrants leave their land,
hardening in the sea.
Out of water.
Dorothy Wordsworth
By Jennifer ChangThe daffodils can go fuck themselves.
I’m tired of their crowds, yellow rantings
about the spastic sun that shines and shines
and shines. How are they any different
2008, XII
By Wendell BerryWe forget the land we stand on
and live from. We set ourselves
free in an economy founded
on nothing, on greed verified
Fires on Highway 192
By Deborah AgerIn Florida, it was raining ash because the fire
demanded it. I had to point my car landward
and hope the smoke would part, but it was a grey sea
absorbing my body. Cabbage Palms were annihilated.
Set the Garden on Fire
By Chen ChenMy friend’s new neighbors in the suburbs
are planting a neat row of roses
between her house & theirs.
History
By Juan Carlos GaleanoIn the north we hunted many buffalo
whose lard warmed us all winter.
But in the jungle they told us that to bring more light
Song for the Turtles in the Gulf
By Linda HoganWe had been together so very long,
you willing to swim with me
just last month, myself merely small