To the woman I saw today who wept in her car
By Bianca Lynne SpriggsWoman,
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
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THE NINE
By Tara HardyThey call it dissociation.
I call it THE NINE (children)
who live inside me.
Each of them encased
in amber, frozen in a mosquito-pose
The Universe, According to Rufino Tamayo
By Monica RicoPast 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.
On Calling the Cops.
By Rasheed CopelandIt took us this long to slow our dying
down to a languid and sensible pace
wherein the sugar might claim each our limbs
Talk Ugly
By Joseph GreenThe 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.
After the Election: A Father Speaks to His Son
By M. Soledad CaballeroHe says, they will not take us.
They want the ones who love
another god, the ones whose
joy comes with five prayers and
On the Other Side
By Martha CollinsMartha Collins performs the poem "On the Other Side" at the 2016 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
#flyingwhileblack
By Imani CezanneThere 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
The Love for My Culture
By Elexia AlleyneMaybe it’s the Spanish running through my veins
That’s the only way I know how to explain it
Maybe it’s the r’s rrrolling off my tongue
See,
My Father’s Hands / Las manos de mi padre
By Alison Roh ParkMy daddy's hands were scarred
and through the smallest details escaped
years ago I remember them a strong
brown like here is the axe that missed