Skip to Content
Search Results
Farrah Fang

Washateria Blues

By Farrah Fang In Houston they don’t really call it a laundromat
It’s a washateria or la lavandería
Today you go to the one on Airline and Tidwell

The chronic pain and weakness in your body
Makes it difficult to relocate canastos of clothes
From home to your car, to the washateria, to inside the machine
Aliah Lavonne Tigh

Body Under Another’s Tradition

By Aliah Lavonne Tigh Everyone in Anatomy pairs up,
receives a small baby pig.
The scalpel shines like water or a mirror—if you look, you see
yourself: gloved hand pushing a blade to open
the other animal’s chest. Someone drops
a knife, shouts,
Clean it up. This is how we learn to
dissect a body.
Sham-e-Ali Nayeem

Raath Ki Rani

By Sham-e-Ali Nayeem The other night I sensed her
fragrance makes presence
known before witness.

Heard faint flowers
unseen anklets worn by
ghosts of Hyderabadi streets.
Summer Farah

IN ANOTHER LIFE LINK IS A POET

By Summer Farah My beloved city. We are the lucky ones. We worship a woman immortalized by stone, her trek impossible now. Our realms are severed by sky. Oh, what blood have we forgotten? Even when the sun sets the same monsters patrol our streets.
Rena Priest

Basket Lady and Greater Evils

By Rena Priest We tell our children stories
to keep them by our side:
Basket lady will get you.
She’ll put you in her basket
and carry you away,
deep into the forest
Indran Amirthanayagam

The Days After

By Indran Amirthanayagam I have not had a drink in ten
days, I declared to my close
friends, spilling the news
as well to a fellow passenger

on the bus, and earlier to birds
I greeted as I sauntered off into
the day with a constitutional
by the graves.
Sharon Bridgforth

dat Black Mermaid Man Lady/dem Blessings #34

By Sharon Bridgforth Remember.

You were wild
and you were free
and you felt unloved
and unseen
and you ran the streets
and you Loved hard
and you were Loved deeply
Rose Zinnia

(Reassignment)

By Rose Zinnia a trick
of light
a sleight
of hand
a contused
grammar
emet ezell

WALKING ON WATER

By emet ezell i bought her a shitty ass chicken sandwich.
$18.59 and dripping with oil—
my grandmother. she blessed
the meal for ten minutes before
taking a bite. poured out devotion like
gasoline. like pepsi cola. we knew then
that she was dying, but i lived
in the first paragraph, unprepared.
Ina Cariño

Graveyard Picnic

By Ina Cariño memory of magnolia on lapels. grandfather’s paper
cheeks pale, teeth whiter than frosted hibiscus.

when I visit the mausoleum, I lay a white cloth on his tomb,
mesh of cobwebs stretched across the buds
Page 1 of 9 pages