By Bertrand N. O. Walker
Hush thee and sleep, little one, The feathers on thy board sway to and fro; The shadows reach far downward...
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- By Bertrand N. O. WalkerLonely, open, vast and free, The dark’ning desert lies; The wind sweeps o’er it fiercely, And the yellow...
- By Bertrand N. O. WalkerFor ages long, my people have been Dwellers in this land;For ages viewed these mountains, Loved these...
- By Suzanne RancourtI can remember my father bringing home spruce gum.He worked in the woods and filled his pocketswith ...
- By Ama CodjoeI don’t like being photographed. When we kissed at a wedding, the night grew long and luminous. You ...
- By Li-Young LeeSad is the man who is asked for a story and can’t come up with one. His five-year-old son waits in his...
- By Sylvia ChanI want to begin this poem with two stories:1. In 1984, my mother was pulled over for speeding in a rural...
- By Joyce KilmerNow by what whim of wanton chanceDo radiant eyes know sombre days?And feet that shod in light should...
- By Richard SikenDriving, dogs barking, how you get used to it. bow you make the new street yours.Trees outside the ...
- By Emily Wilsonstripped batting of cloud glimpsed ligaments dusk coming up under lithographic, nib-hatchings instruments...
- By Brian SneedenMy daughter says she is the Wolf Singer.She plants the vertebrae of her enemieslike seeds. She’s three...
- By Kinsale DrakeI want my Luci Tapahonso cowboy with a shining belt and a good dog he likes my legs in blue jeans but...
- By Kinsale DrakeGramophones were weapons, swallowing the dying songs— voices are still muted in the dust bowl of those...
- By Kinsale DrakeI feel god in this Taco Bell tonight: Cheese, beans, rice, the witching hour of missing someone. My ...
- By Kinsale DrakeI lay me down across the metro tracks Bless the parking lot where I kissed a city ndn There are lullabies...
- By Kinsale DrakeBecause my mama lost her daddy when she was too young And she didn’t know how to hold her grief so she...
- By G. Winston James“But as you are chosen for my own calling, I am here” He sits facing me Static gaze Head close clippered. Hands on table...
- By Brandon YoungOh, don’t worry, we will let our hair down tonight— but first we must remember on this stage, the queen...
- By Brandon YoungMy father said to me once your only choices are the factories. Oil stains or the selfsame bruises. No...
- By Felicia ZamoraWhere wor{l}d & the tangible object of that wor{l}d collide. My brain thinks traces & again, Singh’s words at ...