Skip to content

From Pippa Little:

May 20, 2018

but now we rise, all women
fondled and hurt and licked in acid jokery and in hate,
pets, sweethearts, loves, darlings, humourless bitches –
we stand together, each one a Spartaca
no longer silent or alone: each voice stronger,
massing, alive, a wild murmuration
of me too/ me too/ me too



From Chera Hammons:

May 18, 2018

They say to be cursed, you’ve got to believe in curses.
What is a woman? Can you kiss
any of that hurt away?
The wood is too green and will not burn.
We leave with what we carried when we arrived—
a hunger, a love of air. That’s it.
I don’t know how to take compliments,
so I bury them alive.

Anything Worth Saving

From Kwame Dawes:

May 16, 2018

The sea is familiar as all dawns are familiar.
We walk into them knowing it is our sack
of troubles that we spill open to color
the sky. But here on the boat, at anchor,
apart from the ordinary lull of the easy
tide, there is a certain peace.

At Anchor: The Real Situation


From Aline Murray Kilmer:

May 15, 2018

I can never remake the thing I have destroyed;
I brushed the golden dust from the moth’s bright wing,
I called down wind to shatter the cherry-blossoms,
I did a terrible thing.

I feared that the cup might fall, so I flung it from me;
I feared that the bird might fly, so I set it free;
I feared that the dam might break, so I loosed the river:
May its waters cover me.


From Witter Bynner:

May 8, 2018

Words are hoops
Through which to leap upon meanings,
Which are horses’ backs,
Bare, moving.


From Scherezade Siobhan:

May 2, 2018

be the wind that snakes through
each gargoyle’s stone-jawed fount.

unlatch the door from its bronzed decade
& flood the floor with your bull-horned sigils

tell me again how
i slow the fury of your fists

here, the selcouth of a mouth
its dark room, its dirty word

here, the origin of a body, bare-breasted,
its whorehouse hymn; a treacle of taboos.

here, your name; ghost and god –
a rosary i recite with teeth.

come palabra

From Erika L. Sánchez:

April 30, 2018

I prefer to become demon,
what their eyes cannot. Half of me
is beautiful, half of me is a promise
filled with the quietest places.
Every day I pray like a dog
in the mirror and relish the crux
of my hurt. We know Lilith ate
the bones of her enemies. We know
a bitch learns to love her own ghost.

All of Us

%d bloggers like this: