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Tag: Poem

Poetry

From time to time, language dies. / It is dying now. / Who is alive to speak it?

Fady Joudah
Poetry

Who did this to you?

Sean Patrick Mulroy
Poetry

in 1989 you walk the main road to /
Tiananmen when the inexplicable /
hits

Joseph Cuomo
Poetry

Why didn't I just say / people like us here / at this table / should not just talk about politics

Peter Dale Scott
Poetry

Relying a little less on the odd language we’d been left inside / we turned back to feeling: — / more moan, more mumble.

Joy Priest
Poetry

Drowning is something that happens to others, not to them.

Hannah Liberman
Poetry

trudging back to Eden.

Alfredo Véa Jr.
Poetry

Your lone question —
What happens when you ignore a part of someone?
Would flood me, and in time, knock down
Every structure.

Wesley Rothman
Poetry

most days, during some mid-day hour, / I close my eyes and say the Sh’ma. / But it’s always the wrong time of day, / and it’s the only prayer I know

Matthew Lippman
Poetry

I’m not sure anymore / how far joy gets us

Aaron Magloire
Poetry

a presenter / interrupts a program to break the news of migrants / found dead on the shores of river niger. i look down / the streets through my window.

Abu Bakr Sadiq
Poetry

My life too has ended
many times over. Now I’m
doing all I can to return

Tadeusz Dąbrowski
Poetry

even the long-gone
once knew tenderness.

Kristin Emanuel
Poetry

it’s happening / again. everything / outside me / get to switching  / channels. brown black / carbon black / black cat black

Ashley Warner
Poetry

shouting / the same words but in different languages

Meghana Mysore
Poetry

there is nothing but performance; the language that stretches to capture us all

Ben Doller
Poetry

I begin to feel my body rise / and I can believe / in what freedom must feel like.

Evaristo Rivera
Poetry

To not have had the luxury to think “the world is over,” but to feel it instead.

Sandra Simonds
Poetry

My grandmother tells me she loved you fiercely
in the way she reaches for me when your name
is spoken.

Alexis V. Jackson
Poetry

The stones are endlessly weeping in the dark. Or is it
the bird-chatter of rain. O darling, are you writing
another poem about trees? No, not trees but ghosts
that live on trees and their legend of never-let-gos.

Njoku Nonso
Poetry

When you were / in the Everglades we canoed from Flamingo and through the canals.

Leah Claire Kaminski
Poetry

My feet moved down another street / and I saw the shape they would draw / on the map in my mind.

Monica Cure
Poetry

Look at my heartbeat / and its consequence, / that cup warm on my palm

Brandi Nicole Martin

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