Dorothy Wordsworth
By Jennifer ChangThe daffodils can go fuck themselves.
I’m tired of their crowds, yellow rantings
about the spastic sun that shines and shines
and shines. How are they any different
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River, Page
By Teresa ScollonLook how you've carried these small bodies
across the ocean, looking for the next one
to hear the story. Look how gently you laid
these children down at the fire where stories are told.
Prague TV
By Simki GhebremichaelInstead of Most Wanted
by the FBI, each week
they profile the life
of a dissident, a former
Anxiety Attack at 27,000 Feet
By Nicholas SamarasWhat is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
from “Offering”
By Shailja Patelsing history
back onto itself, sing tearing
whole again, sing altered
from Don’t Let Me Be Lonely
By Claudia RankineMahalia Jackson is a genius. Or Mahalia Jackson has genius. The man I am with is trying to make a distinction. I am uncomfortable with his need to make this distinction because his inquiry begins to approach subtle shades of racism, classism, or sexism. It is hard to know which.
from part one of Diary of a Wave Outside the Sea
By Dunya MikhailThrough your eye
history enters
and punctured helmets pour out.
from Clangings
By Steven CramerI hear the dinner plates gossip
Mom collected to a hundred.
My friends say get on board,