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
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At the Mall, There’s a Machine That Tells You If You Are Racist
By Karen SkolfieldIt's right next to a Polariod booth.
The instructions say the needles are small
and barely felt. The pictures, it explains,
have nudity, but no gratuitous nudity.
Nonstop from Fruitvale to Ursa Major: Threnody for Los Desaparecidos* of The United States
By Vincent ToroA lung lit like diesel
is not fable or fodder.
Is not sewage siphoned from stern
and starboard. Cuffs, not slapdash plums
plunge from your garden
forge [fawrj, fohrj]
By Leslie Anne Mcilroy(1) to form by heating and hammering; beat into shape, as in the child’s back
burning, shoulders of flame, ribs of shame till she is no longer what she
was, but what you want her to be; 2) to form or make, especially by
concentrated effort, as in pride, see the girl, my girl, take credit, look what I
Spelling Down
By Ellen McGrath SmithI wanted bad to advance to Washington, D. C.
I wanted to be anyone but me.
The nun who had trained me for the spelling bee
needed a ride, and I was so worried all the way across town
Within Me
By Naomi AyalaNaomi Ayala performs the poem "Within Me" at the 2008 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
To the States, by Walt Whitman
By Galway KinnellGalway Kinnell performs the poem "To the States" by Walt Whitman at the 2008 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
My Body Elizabeth
By Cornelius EadyCornelius Eady performs the poem "My Body Elizabeth" at the 2010 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
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Alabanza
By Martín EspadaMartín Espada performs the poem "Alabanza" at the 2010 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
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The Letter Over
By Patricia SmithPatricia Smith performs "The Letter Over" at the 2010 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.