Poetry
by Ceilidh Barlow Cash.
“It feels like holding a bird in one hand / and a bowling ball in the other.”
by Sonia Sarkar.
“Nine months into my life, I am asked to eat on command / These tiny bursts of cylindrical snow that will reappear / Again and again…”
by Lauren K. Alleyne.
“It’s been proven, they say— / the bills like a line of ants, / the glamour of the new year / grown dull like a tin ring…”
by Rochelle Robinson-Dukes.
“April is my favorite month. / Its stormy flowers / and puddled rainbows are captivating / as is the lightning / that breaks cool spring nights / like a child’s scribble.”
by Zhu Jian.
“Passing by the burial ground, / I see some flickers of light. / A friend tells me / it’s the bones that flash.”
Steve Cushman.
“We shared cigarettes and jokes / talked about anything except / what we’d seen, the baby we’d X-rayed, / his bruises…”
by Ines P. Rivera Prosdocimi.
“San Nicolas fluctuated between mentor, master. / The more I travelled the stairs, he levitated. The more / I slid my finger along his goldstone frame, he’d say, /‘Ciónnn.”
by Laura Paul Watson.
“To be unseen, unprayed for, to be unhugged / in the grocery store and left alone // to select a melon.”
by Jerome Ellison Murphy.
“Now it’s loose in the house, and out back. / Lop away its extremities, they swell back fat.”