dear America
By Rachel Eliza GriffithsI pick you up
& you are a child made of longing
clasped to my neck. Iridescent,
lovely, your inestimable tantrums,
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My Father’s Hands / Las manos de mi padre
By Alison Roh ParkMy daddy's hands were scarred
and through the smallest details escaped
years ago I remember them a strong
brown like here is the axe that missed
The Opposite of Holding in Breath—
By Hari Allurithe tea in her glass. It glows the brocade.
Her grandmother picked that tea
on a mountain—a mountain in a war
whose shores were her bed. Steeping, the petals
The Newer Colossus
By Karen FinneyfrockMy feet have been wilting in this salt-crusted cement
since the French sent me over on a steamer in pieces.
I am the new Colossus, wonder of the modern world,
a woman standing watch at the gate of power.
The Last New Year’s Resolution
By Kazumi ChinThe very last mammoth was just like the others,
except more lonely. The very last tortilla chip
makes me feel guilty.The very last line
of the poem changes everything about
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Any Given Name
By Cacayo BallesterosChapas is what cops are called
in my country
who threw the too tortured
in the lion pits
of the Military Academy zoo
Juan Valdez (or Why is a white guy like you named “Carlos”?)
By Carlos Andrés GómezCarlos Andrés Gómez performs the poem " 'Juan Valdez' (or 'Why is a white guy like you named 'Carlos'?')" at the 2012 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Need
By Peter Cook and Kenny LernerNeed, desperate need, eagle-taloned need
is a pumping drill. The oil sloshes
to the brim. The lid slams and it’s a tanker
spewing smoke. It burps and hisses
We, stones, were branded by hot iron
By Rosa ChávezRi oj ab'aj xkoj qetal ruk'a k'atanalaj ch'ich'
Xk'at ri qab'aq'wach //
Las piedras fuimos marcadas con hierro candente
quemados nuestros ojos //
We, stones, were branded by hot iron
our eyes scorched
Manitogiizans/December
By Lois BeardsleeWhen I asked my mother
If she could remember
What her mother's mother called December