I No Longer Sing With Only My Voice –Afton Wilder I no longer sing with only my voice. I sing with my heart, my love. I no longer sing with only my voice. I sing with my mind, my thought.…
Poem: The Problem
The Problem –Taylor Mali From What Learning Leaves You’re the this that somebody ought to do something about. — Jeffrey McDaniel The guy in front of me trying to get on the subway who is blocking my way…
Poem: Canary
Canary –Rita Dove From Grace Notes Billie Holiday’s burned voice had as many shadows as lights, a mournful candelabra against a sleep piano, the gardenia her signature under that ruined face. (Now you’re cooking, drummer to bass, magic spoon, magic needle.…
Poem: To Hold
To Hold –Li-Young Lee From Behind My Eyes So we’re dust. In the meantime, my wife and I make the bed. Holding opposite edges of the sheet, we raise it, billowing, then pull it tight, measuring by eye as it falls…
Poem: The Journey
The Journey –Mary Oliver From Dream Work One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice— though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old…
Poem: Catechism for a witch’s child
Catechism for a witch’s child –J.L. Stanley When they ask to see your gods your book of prayers show them lines drawn delicately with veins on the underside of a bird’s wing tell them you believe in giant sycamores mottled…
Poem: There is a land
There is a land – a Motherland of vast imaginative spaces and absolute belonging her open heart a deep well where all draw and drink freely and fully the waters of life, where we meet unknown immediately recognized neighbors share…
Poem: Nine Spice Mix
Nine Spice Mix –Zeina Azzam This spice mix is featured in many of the dishes in this book, lending them a uniquely Palestinian flavor. —Reem Kassis, The Palestinian Table First they tango on my tongue, nimble couples careening, then together…
Poem: Sunday
Sunday –Cecily Parks So this is Sunday evening under the live oak behind the kitchen where the Rose of Sharon spills purple tea onto the grass, the yellow bells sound yellow alarms from tall stalks, and the sunflowers peep over…
Poem: Mr. Chairman Takes His Leave
Mr. Chairman Takes His Leave –Rosemary Catacalos As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles. —Walt Whitman en memoria William Rashall Sinkin, 1913–2014 Whitman, you once told me, is democracy on the page, messy and imperfect as we…