Antebellum

By Gregory Pardlo Unfinished, the road turns off the fill
from the gulf coast, tracing the bay, to follow
the inland waterway.

Oil: A Love Poem

By Chris August America, don’t we love like oil?
Don’t our slippery arms
Pave the pores of those who need us?

By Camille T. Dungy Pause here at the flower stand-mums
and gladiolas, purple carnations
dark as my heart.

By Jody Bolz Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.

By Carly Sachs Where does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers

By Sholeh Wolpé Here come the octopi of war
tentacles wielding guns, missiles
holy books and colorful flags.

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 Tara Betts Quiet girl found a voice mama could not quell
inside Nutbush City Limits. The baby
blasted beyond timid Annie Mae into Tina

By Lori Desrosiers I was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.

By Randall Horton The gavel
The splintered body
The red-neck guards