Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Faylita HicksCrawling out from between the legs of a woman
with my name still wetly slathered across her chin,
I cradle the lewd silk of our venom
up against the hot swell of my caged chest, wade out
through her front door, into the murky billows
of the damned and the damnable,
By Joshua NguyenTo begin, let us end
this sentence with no friends or en
emies. Just wrong destin
ations to sad desks in Am-
hurst.
By Aurielle MarieI always feel Black, y’ know? | I close my eyes at night & the tar behind them lids | ain’t nearly as dark as me | I wake to a thousand white daggers
By Tiana NobileWhen you held him, how heavy was his head cradled in your lap? How long did you carry that
weight in your thighs?
By Sumita ChakrabortyWe may try to change the shape of your body, or the color of your skin,
or the kinds of sounds that your mouths make, to match how we think you should.
By Saretta MorganMore than a decade after being sentenced I share the news with my mom.
By Ashna AliOn an assemblage of screens on another firework evening
Ruthie Gilmore reminds us that abolition is not recitation.
By Tala Khanmalekunbound pages carry my inheritance from Baba
a strategy to get around the system, like Baba
By Hayan ChararaThe Arab apocalypse began around the year
of my birth, give or take—
the human apocalypse,
a few thousand years earlier.
By Caridad Moro-Gronlierif i should
take you
to that spot
by the water
you can’t pronounce
but love