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Jennifer Maritza McCauley

Old Blood

By Jennifer Maritza McCauley Before they tell us how to look
at our kilt brothers' bodies:

Tell them we already know how to see ‘em.
Denice Frohman

The Hour Dylann Roof Sat In The Church

By Denice Frohman By now, you know their names, their cheekbones—
the tender hands they offered when you walked in.

You know the quivering strength of prayer and the art of making God listen.
How faith can summon weary backbones into pyramids.
Teri Ellen Cross Davis

Drought

By Teri Ellen Cross Davis When you were inside me I could feel you thrive
your rounded kicks, my body your taut drum.
Now I beat these breasts, betrayed by a landscape
that wilts, a place where even tears won’t come.
Mahogany L. Browne

the best time

By Mahogany L. Browne the best time i had as a teenager
included a bottle of cisco and a sideshow
at the uptown gas station.
after Kenny’s body was bludgeoned by his girlfriend & her two brothers
heidi andrea restrepo rhodes

Til the Taste of Free in Our Mouths (Brown Baby Lullaby)

By Heidi Andrea Restrepo Rhodes Wake. Wake.
These the nights we sing. These the folds,
unborn reverie, ambition marbled mud & shine,
raging anthem born like diamonds out darkest ash & rain
Alison Roh Park

My Father’s Hands / Las manos de mi padre

By Alison Roh Park My 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
Vincent Toro

Nonstop from Fruitvale to Ursa Major: Threnody for Los Desaparecidos* of The United States

By Vincent Toro A lung lit like diesel
is not fable or fodder.

Is not sewage siphoned from stern
and starboard. Cuffs, not slapdash plums
plunge from your garden
Fatimah Asghar

Photo Albums

By Fatimah Asghar The names of my family members swirl
like dust in my lungs. I try to write about birds

& only pull from my pen animal skin.
My bones alive & a lament of dignified grief
Aracelis Girmay

Break

By Aracelis Girmay When the boys are carnivals
we gather round them in the dark room
& they make their noise while drums
ricochet against their bodies & thin air
Lee Sharkey

Man on a Sofa

By Lee Sharkey A man is lying on a sofa.

The man has been reading.

He has laid down the book beside him.

The man's form is waiting to be occupied.
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