Robert E. Lee and I Have a Staring Contest
By M. KamaraAnd a white person says racism is dead
and a white person jokes about slavery
and a white person lives unbothered
and a white person screams about immigrants
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Immigrant Confession
By M. Soledad CaballeroThe Cherokee are not originally from Oklahoma. Settlers forced
them to disappear west, into air and sky, beyond buildings,
beyond concrete, beyond the rabid land hunger. There was
a trail. There was despair. Reservations carved out of prairie
grass, lost space and sadness in the middle of flat dirt.
Post-Assault Prescription When I Fear My Spirit Dying
By Diana TokajiHere in the mud
of my history
beneath the rage
is counsel.
Walls and Mirrors, Fall 1982
By Deborah ParedezThe English translation of my surname is walls
misspelled, the original s turned to its mirrored
twin, the z the beginning of the sound for sleep.
Epistle: Disobedience Operates Across Time & Space
By Leslie McIntoshImal, direct action protest visible from satellite is time travel, is binge-watching the future. Your optic nerves can reach where no lung has emptied, and speak back with authority, so what is the meaning of witness? Imal, when I see your lover’s face, I am seeing what it has become, in spite of you, and everyone. And what does he see?
nextdoor app
By Shabnam Piryaeia young man desperately buries himself under damp leaves while helicopters hunt him police laugh as he tries to hide in the foliage a neighbor with a device to eavesdrop on scanners catches this tidbit
Osmosis
By Jonathan MendozaExample: I place my hand in a pool of salt.
Some stays. Some seeps into my skin.
Everything goes exactly where it’s supposed to.
I See a Smear of Animal on the Road and Mistake it for Philando Castile
By Ashley M. JonesDon’t need lawyers
when you split a body in two
on the highway—
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
Shooting for the Sky
By Purvi ShahUnder sky massaged by sun, from a comfortable chair, I watch
the rain stroke a myrtle tree. Naked
rain, my father says. Naked,