Dear Hermano
By Moncho AlvaradoAgain people are being taken away,
I read the news of kids
like your daughter & son,
like our family, our neighbors,
they wake in a state of temporary,
that lasts longer & longer &
longer than we can remember.
Search Results
How to make salabat
By Kay Ulanday BarrettHoy! Listen, This is how to cut ginger, it’s a root, she said from
Chicago basement on first snow of the year. It’s the 90’s. Snow is
a big deal. Tear salt missing ocean salt, she cleared her throat.
Based on where we’re from, nothing can prepare us for frozen.
Fast forward: college friend asks How do you make that tea again?
The one you used to drink when it started to snow.
The Days After
By Indran AmirthanayagamI have not had a drink in ten
days, I declared to my close
friends, spilling the news
as well to a fellow passenger
on the bus, and earlier to birds
I greeted as I sauntered off into
the day with a constitutional
by the graves.
Sometimes Oral History Comes Off Recorder as Poem or, Birth Story
By River 瑩瑩 Dandelionmy mother mimics her body
stick bug straight
arms plastered to side
[i was in labor for three days
in a hospital bed in Brooklyn
the lighting was harsh for your eyes]
Ode to the Mulberry Tree In Our Front Drive
By Angela María SpringThough the jam did not set, great chunks of purple-black in jars
placed as offerings behind the kitchen counter butcher block
homemade experiment by my Central American-born mamá, who warned
us to keep a stern eye out, said you invade, take over swiftly
and she was right as our desert—so unlike the humid, temperate climes from which
you first emerged—urges you grow fast to claim any water to be found,
yet as a tree you are migrant/immigrant like us so of course Tucson
banned your presence as Arizona pulled Latinx books from schools
Nancy Builds a UFO
By Nancy HuangI build a UFO. I paint it
sparkly purple like the best sex bruise
you ever got. I line
my foil aircraft with crystals
humming different vibrations.
I woo the shit out of this
engine battery. Rocket fuel and
hard rock swing.
Abuela Warns Me a Caravan Of “Esa Gente” Is Headed Our Way
By Caridad Moro-Gronlierif i should
take you
to that spot
by the water
you can’t pronounce
but love
Stone
By Aideed MedinaDe piedra, sangre.
I make my own heaven. I drag it out of the streets, and inhospitable terrains. I mixed "tabique", brick, mortar with my hands, kneading,
I need, to make my own heaven
Latido
By Leticia Hernández-LinaresTus pómulos, the historic shape of your
temporal bones imitating the pirámides we carry, beating
blueprints inside of our lungs, stencil the heart
with the angles of the architecture we were born in.
DREAMers Mark Themselves
By Maricielo Ampudia GutiérrezWith each finger, I pressed on black ink, and one by one placed them on the transmitting screen. Following instruction, I rolled each finger, left to right, and slow—every quarter inch of skin recorded. On the display, perfect fingerprints glowing.