Saturday, 9:30am
By Hayes DavisAfter their hands are washed
After their utensils are chosen
After little brother needs help
After “Get back to the table!”
Search Results
Drought
By Teri Ellen Cross DavisWhen you were inside me I could feel you thrive
your rounded kicks, my body your taut drum.
Now I beat these breasts, betrayed by a landscape
that wilts, a place where even tears won’t come.
part 1…us as we are
By Bennie Herroni always thought
babies came from dancing
i owned every color of
corduroyed pants
What We Do—Now
By Ellen HaganWe mourn, we bless,
we blow, we wail, we
wind—down, we sip,
we spin, we blind, we
The American middle class ...
By Dawn Lundy MartinThe American middle class is screwed again but they don’t know it.
Politics is a gleaming nowhere. Žižek fantasizes about Capitalism’s
inevitable end.
ode to the puritan in me
By Ross GayThere is a puritan in me
the brim of whose
hat is so sharp
it could cut
your tongue out
History
By Linda HoganThis is the word that is always bleeding.
You didn't think this
until you country changes and when it thunders
you search your own body
How Hard Is It to Write a Love Song?
By Sholeh WolpéLast night a sparrow flew into my house,
crashed against the skylight and died:
I want to write a love song.
Baghdad Before the Occupation
By Amal Al-Jubouri—My solitude, to which I always returned
City that kept my secret religion in her libraries
I came back to rest my head on her shoulder
and with just one look, she saw how tired I was
Leaving My Childhood Home
By Zeina AzzamOn our last day in Beirut
with my ten years packed in a suitcase,
my best friend asked for a keepsake.
I found a little tin box