Split
By Cathy Linh CheI see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Cathy Linh CheI see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.
By Lauryn NesbittAs long as you wake up everyday you should have
no reason to complain, right
i guess if i'm still breathing then i'm not really
By Purvi ShahThe mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
By Joseph RossIn a summer of snipers
some men raised their hands
with fingers pressed
By Sonia SanchezYour limbs buried
in northern muscle carry
their own heartbeat
By Marilyn NelsonSomebody took a picture of a class
standing in line to get polio shots,
and published it in the Weekly Reader.
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