Poetry

  • How You Livin?

    by Cynthia Manick

     

    like the air ain’t filled with
    coarse windchimes
    sirens loud as a jet in flight

    the quick jabs
    of a couple arguing about cheese
    and face masks
    and children at borders

  • What the Fingers Do

    by J. Estanislao Lopez

     

    My daughter learned to point
    in a cemetery.
    There were many deaths that year.

    The priests’ black shirts grew discolored from sweat.
    Florists did well.
    Pillowy, white fabric lined the open …

  • for a jakarta microbiome

    by Khairani Barokka

     

     

    because do calls this house an ecosystem

    where straddling folioles tangle mighty-fisted

    along a wire canopy he strung

    above the brick-and-pot garden, and city fox

    coming like a client for bananas they feed it …

  • and Sundays.

    by Crystal Tettey

    Sundays are for the depressed
    half-naked
    dancing in alleys
    of fiction
    of fructose

    Sundays are for feeling small
    submerged in our dreams

    misty eyes
    and
    mild madness

    green drapes
    and
    country music

    Sundays are …

  • The Last Photo with My Father

    by Anas Atakora

    At the threshold of the sitting room
    Standing
    On the only stair that separates the door and the floor
    The device snapped

    The father, his amaranth red bubu
    The son, his …

  • We Are Part of Those Who Keep Wake

    by Macaire Etty

    We will keep wake up until the boundaries of insomnia
    We will not sleep
    We will pluck out the eyes of drowsiness
    We will pull the bed away from naive …

  • A Storm Like No Other

    by Marie Ketline Adodo

    What storm is brewing
    With the falling of dead stars
    That lie along these alleys of sea foam?

    Suicidal waves
    Rise and crash
    Into the throat of a gaping gulf
    Which …

  • Hot Stepper at the Gates of Hell

    by Martin Egblewogbe

     

    who now pleads with the ancestors
    seeing with naked eyes the gates of the dead

    who now sees the impossibility of life
    finding at last the answer to the question

    and wonders …

  • The mothers were drowning

    by Danielle Pafunda

    At first, they said the mothers were drowning
    in their own waters. Each mother agreed.
    I am drowning she said. They said you should know
    it is not your fault. …