Maine
By Carly SachsWhere does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Carly SachsWhere does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers
By Sholeh WolpéHere come the octopi of war
tentacles wielding guns, missiles
holy books and colorful flags.
By Jericho BrownNot the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God
By Tara BettsQuiet girl found a voice mama could not quell
inside Nutbush City Limits. The baby
blasted beyond timid Annie Mae into Tina
By Lori DesrosiersI was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.
By Randall HortonThe gavel
The splintered body
The red-neck guards
By Philip MetresIn the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis
By Remica L. BinghamI enter to find all the students in uniform
occupying a small room.
By Lee SharkeyWhat do you do with an eye in the cup of your hand?
What do you see that you didn't?
What do you make of a sphere of jelly with fins of torn muscle?
By Lita HooperFrederick Lake has been to prison
finished his time
convicted in 1989