Hikmet: Çankiri Prison, 1938
By Joshua WeinerToday is Sunday.
Today, for the first time, they let me go out into the sun.
And I stood there I didn't move,
struck for the first time, the very first time ever:
Search Results
bitter crop
By Kelli Stevens Kaneblueberry blackberry as always
bleeding, back road or boulevard,
our boy crowned with baton,
not an elegy for Mike Brown
By Danez SmithI am sick of writing this poem
but bring the boy. his new name
his same old body. ordinary, black
dead thing. bring him & we will mourn
Temple
By Rayna MomenUnprotected sex is a woman in America.
Unprotected sex is a woman in the world.
My body is my temple and will always be
it is not some place where you go to pray
from Forgetting Willie James Jones
By David Tomas MartinezIt's not water to wine to swallow harm,
though many of us have,
and changing the name
All the Trees of the Field Shall Clap Their Hands
By Eduardo C. CorralAre the knees & elbows
the first knots
the dead untie?
juxtaposing the black boy & the bullet
By Danez Smithone is hard & the other tried to be
one is fast & the other was faster
one is loud & one is a song
Manistee Lights
By Samiya BashirBrother I don't either understand this
skipscrapple world that is--these
slick bubble cars zip feverish down
Hold
By Gowri Koneswaranwe're taught to hold hands
when we cross the street
or walk with our mothers in parking lots or