Hold
By Gowri Koneswaranwe're taught to hold hands
when we cross the street
or walk with our mothers in parking lots or
Search Results
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
Margins
By Heather HolligerShe and I, our silences,
hesitations--at the grocery store,
in the taxi, on the street.
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
Across the Street from the Whitmore Home for Girls, 1949
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
Uncivil
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
Belly Song
By Kathleen HellenI sit in the front row of
bleachers -- cheap seats for greater grief.
My son
Can Safety Matches Make Us Safe?
By Judith ArcanaYou read the tiny cardboard book before
you scratch the strip under Augie's New Pizza
on the back of MIA:We still don't know