Rubied roses and splattered wine, spilling sunsets, bruises, burns, fired iron and ancient rust, edge of danger, passionate love— Gentle yeses and offered palms, tight
This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half English and half God. Shake the dust.-Anis Mojgani, “Shake the Dust” Didn’t
Is faith set and certainor is it alive and changing (or is that me)?On one hand, I hold onto adogma that has been passed on,outlawed,
for Sheryl Grossman The first time doctors tried to call it off,I was still being knitted, and a dropped stitch on one of my geneslooked
for JH & TI.Took about a minuteto sift through what terminationwould mean: one less childin the broken, breaking system. A few more minutesto feel out
Why do I feel like I’d need to havea scientific working knowledge of how birds flyto write a poem about this teeny chirp thatjumps around
Her color is beautiful. No need to go intowood or food similes about it—her melaninneeds no reference, no testimonial. Her 4c hair and eyes that
For Vernon Allridge Texas says that a deliberate crimeand a future threat must merit death. Close that book, no matter what chapters could come next.
She looks around with calm curiosity,her pink-flavored Dum Dum in her mouth,this little girl with her daybreak eyes and evening skinsitting on the walnut wooden
This bread holds God—is God—hidden Heaven,small and containing the hugeness of time,plain and bursting with each kind of beauty,white and reflecting the one piercing truth,flat
