Mutanabbi Street
By Jody BolzPages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.
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See Them Coming
By Sholeh WolpéHere come the octopi of war
tentacles wielding guns, missiles
holy books and colorful flags.
For the Fifty (Who Formed PEACE With Their Bodies)
By Philip MetresIn the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis
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The Republic of Poetry
By Martín EspadaIn the republic of poetry,
a train full of poets
rolls south in the rain
The Hours Fly Quick
By Quincy TroupeThe hours fly quick on wings of clipped winds
like nonsense blown from mouths of hot air—
people—including my own—form syllables, suds
Torso
By Francisco AragónDespite the absent head (whose eyes
were the green of apples)
America, I Sing Back
By Allison Adelle Hedge CokeAmerica, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.
Sing back the moment you cherished breath.
Sing you home into yourself and back to reaso
Zen of Tipping
By Jan BeattyMy friend Lou
used to walk up to strangers
and tip them - no, really -
When I Was Torn by War
By Sinan AntoonI took a brush
Immersed in death
And drew a window
Wave
By David KeplingerLincoln, leaving Springfield, 1861,
Boards a train with a salute: but it is weak.
To correct it, he slides his hand away