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 and stark against a win­ter sky…

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 the water wan­der togeth­er through imaginative…

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 form an…

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 the fence into…

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 are in…

Poem: April Chores

April Chores by Jane Keny­on When I take the chilly tools from the shed’s dark­ness, I come out to a world made new by heat and light. The snake basks and dozes on a large flat stone. It reared and scold­ed me for rak­ing too close…

Poem: A Modified Villanelle for My Childhood

A Mod­i­fied Vil­lanelle for My Child­hood –Suzi F. Gar­cia            with some help from Ahmad I wan­na write lyri­cal, but all I got is mag­i­cal. My book needs a poem talkin bout I remem­ber when Some­thing more auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal Mi famil­ia want­ed to assimilate,…

Poem: The Dark Night (XVIII)

The Dark Night (XVIII) –May Sin­clair Our love is woven Of a thou­sand strands— The cool fra­grance of the first lilac At morn­ing, The first dew on the grass, The smell of wild mint in the wood, The pun­gent and earthy smell of ground…

Poem: pity this busy monster, manunkind

pity this busy mon­ster, manunkind –e. e. cum­mings pity this busy mon­ster, manunkind, not. Progress is a com­fort­able dis­ease: your vic­tim (death and life safe­ly beyond) plays with the big­ness of his lit­tle­ness — elec­trons deify one razor­blade into a…

Poem: Gratitude List

Grat­i­tude List –Nao­mi Shi­hab Nye Thank you for insult­ing me. You helped me see how much I was worth. Thank you for over­look­ing my human­i­ty. In that moment I gained pow­er. To be for­got­ten by the wider world and the right­eous reli­gious and the weaponized…

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