Still Life with Bullets
By Paulette BeeteOrlando Jones, a black actor, douses himself
in a bucket of bullets. I flinch. Bullet against
brown skin even without the bruised and
busted aftermath is no easy thing to bear.
Search Results
Frequently Asked Questions: #7
By Camille T. DungyIs it difficult to get away from it all once you've had a child?
I am swaying in the galley — working
to appease this infant who is not
fussing but will be fussing if I don't move —
That Map of Bone and Opened Valves
By Ilya KaminskyI watched a sergeant aim, the deaf boy take iron and fire in his mouth—
his face on the asphalt,
that map of bone and opened valves.
It’s the air. Something in the air wants us too much
Witnesses
By Ellen BassToday is gray, drizzling,
but not enough for drops to pool
on the tips of the silver needles
or soak the bark of the pines at Ponary—
from The Book I Made with a Counselor My First Week of School
By Javier ZamoraHis grandma made the best pupusas, the counselor wrote next to Stick-Figure Abuelita
(I’d colored her puffy hair black with a pen).
Earlier, Dad in his truck: “always look gringos in the eyes.”
Mom: “never tell them everything, but smile, always smile.”
Aubade with Gravel and Gold
By Sally Wen MaoI’m sick of speaking for women who’ve died
Their stories and their disappearances
bludgeon me in my sleep
POLITICS OF AN ELEGY
By Hieu Minh NguyenIf things happen
the way they are supposed to
my mother will die before me.
Requiem
By Melissa TuckeyUnable to sleep,
the blankets wrapped in waves, waves
as tall as dreams,
the dream world trying to make sense
_139_134_c1_smart_scale.jpg)
Distance
By Ruth Irupé SanabriaMy grandfather asked me: could I remember
him, the park, the birds, the bread?
I’ll be dying soon, he said.
To the Black Virgin Mary on a Steeple in Greensburg, PA
By Destiny O. BirdsongOr maybe you weren’t. Whenever I’m frightened,
anything can become a black woman in a granite dress:
scaffold for what’s to come: blue lights exploding
like an aurora at the base of the bridge;