Jacquelyn Grant Brown For Black Mothers Who Can’t Consider Sleep Cuz the World Still Ain’t Safe Enuf Her son makes it home +++safely after the late shift only to find her there +++again, twisted deep into the contour her…
Browsing: Poem of the Month
Genoa Yanez-Alaniz Severing Maria In the photo she texted her excessive and carmine uterus — sits inside a sterile dish Her motherhood noduled — dead-fleshed and disposed severed limb of life once divining deity of Coatlicue — vigil of body…
Julie Cyr Leda in the Gulf after the painting by Adam Miller When Deepwater Horizon exploded, Leda’s baby latched on as the waves became slick, the film refracting light into a false rainbow. Leda sat naked on a rock while…
Eileen Cleary Leaves & Blooms Soon, April. And those of us who’d frozen our fingers clothespinning children’s outfits into brightly colored popsicles, or who’d shoveled snow just before the town’s plow pushed the icy streets onto our driveways, or…
Jennifer Barber Writing Too Fast, I Write “Thew” for “The” As if you and I commingled +++++++++in the dark and later the same day I give birth to little baby Thew, +++++++++born in winter under a mauve sky. By…
Ibu Robin Lim When Bear was Born Grizzly bears give birth in Winter hibernation. My daughter’s saltwater woke her. Later I thought I saw invisible salamanders coiled around her feet. Back home, in Indonesia, our volcano erupted. I tipped the…
Crystal Karlberg In The New Year My children scatter likes stones and all of last year’s accumulated knowledge is already useless. Extant is a passive way of saying we exist. Once I lost my car in the airport parking lot.…
Dorsía Smith Silva Requiem my son asks for a baby brother for Christmas / so easily / like going to the drive-through / to get some ubiquitous made-to-order meal / Big Mac with extra cheese / onions and…
Erica Bodwell Child, Mother This child, who started as autumn leaves blown against the house, paper crane with a secret code folded inside, dream from which I believed I’d awaken, untroubled, to the old landscape—as easily as setting out…
Tamara J. Madison Till Poem for Mamie Till We have buried you so many times, sifted through files and notes, slipped our fingers through cracks and crevices to find some semblance of sense,…