Things I Carried Coming Into the World
By Remica L. BinghamThe weight of my parents,
the dawn of them;
my grandmother's lackluster
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Community
By Emily K. BrightIt is nearly midnight and I'm
scrubbing at the grout.
The dishes, washed,
Manistee Lights
By Samiya BashirBrother I don't either understand this
skipscrapple world that is--these
slick bubble cars zip feverish down
Looking for The Gulf Motel
By Richard BlancoThe Gulf Motel with mermaid lampposts
and ship's wheel in the lobby should still be
rising out of the sand like a cake decoration.
Postmark from the Transition
By Rachel M. Simonthe name altered from parent's choosing
the threshold of a home
white gloves on the windowsill
Ma Mere n’a Jamais eu des ailes (My momma never had wings)
By Pages MatamMa Mere n'a Jamais eu des ailes
My momma never had wings
But she could tap dance on hurricanes
Split
By Cathy Linh CheI see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.
Before Your Arrival
By Ellen Haganthe ones who brought your father here, come. Bring
with them whole almonds, dried berries & clementines
wrapped in cloth. Their clothes & smart shoes too.
How Manifestos Are Made
By Noah Arhm ChoiIf I fail my mouth this story plays again.
Back home he yanks mama's mouth
round into screams, burns
Loss is an art, traversing one world to the next
By Purvi ShahThe mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling