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By Laurie Ann Guerrero
You must start small as our mothers were small,
our fathers, too, small.
In a pillowcase whip-stitched with roses
or in an old coffee can, collect your abuelos’
teeth; assure them you will not bury them
near the bones of the dog that froze
By Amir Rabiyah
As the sun sets—we set our plan into motion.
Our sole purpose to overthrow
any assumptions, to change
the course of ordinary thinking.
By Bianca Lynne Spriggs
Woman,
I get it.
We are strangers,
but I know the heart is a hive
and someone has knocked yours
from its high branch in your chest
By Tara Hardy
They call it dissociation.
I call it THE NINE (children)
who live inside me.
Each of them encased
in amber, frozen in a mosquito-pose
By Monica Rico
Past the breath that only stars have, I find myself
an open hand of night with pupils that eclipse the moon.
The blackness underneath my feet, not above where the sky is filled with sea.
My eyelash covers the arm of the galaxy with one word that means, here.
By Rasheed Copeland
It took us this long to slow our dying
down to a languid and sensible pace
wherein the sugar might claim each our limbs
By Joseph Green
The last time I saw you alive
I wish I would’ve talked ugly to you.
Said, “Put the straw down. No,
I don’t want to take another line,
I should be writing them.
By M. Soledad Caballero
He says, they will not take us.
They want the ones who love
another god, the ones whose
joy comes with five prayers and
By Martha Collins
Martha Collins performs the poem "On the Other Side" at the 2016 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Imani Cezanne
There is no moment when I am more reminded of my Blackness
than when I am at an airport walking through TSA
The Security Administration
Whose job it is to keep the planes from terrorism