Reading Tranströmer in Bangladesh
By Tarfia FaizullahIn Grandmother's house,
we are each a room that
must remain locked. Inside
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Tarfia FaizullahIn Grandmother's house,
we are each a room that
must remain locked. Inside
By Marilyn NelsonSomebody took a picture of a class
standing in line to get polio shots,
and published it in the Weekly Reader.
By Rachel McKibbensThe Mad Girls climb the wet hill,
breathe the sharp air through sick-green lungs.
The Wildest One wanders off like an old cow
By Venus ThrashI am wearing a white tux with tails,
or a baby blue one with a ruffly shirt,
or decked out in classic black, or coolly
By Kathy Engelwrite about the killing of Troy Davis or
the years he claimed innocence so many times
the words fell from his mouth like drops of honey.
By Antoinette BrimLet the moon untangle itself
from the clothesline, as coming daylight
diminishes its lamp to memory.
By Kathleen O'TooleHe arrived first as a student of geology
in the bicentennial year.
He witnessed
By Deema K. ShehabiI could tell you that listening is made for the ashen sky,
and instead of the muezzin's voice, which lingers
like weeping at dawn,
By Persis M. KarimTheir sons who speak of a cause
As if it were their two feet
beneath them. That they could hold an idea