They Arrive
The paper opens at the pressure of the pen and the ink sinks into the fiber. I almost wrote ‘welcomes’ but the paper doesn’t make that decision. It doesn’t ‘allow’ the ink to enter it, either.
Poets Respond
Second Coming
Now, I want to address this—
this situation—
if you want to call it that—
I guess it’s a situation
we have going on down in Mexico—
where else, where else—
The New Year Makes a Request
It wants us to stop wishing for peace
like it’s the one guarding some goldmine
of surrender or compassion …
Broken Sonnets with Apology for Simile
Forgive me when I tell you I survive
the year in review. You can’t tell who is
under the stitching of her purpled cheek—
The Truth Is a Nimble Little Creature
Gratitude, too.
The only flippin’ truth
is everything moves
says the moon, hovering
over every mantra,
every sparrow,
every dollar, every
Congo, every nation,
every little good intention.
Shroud of Light
By the time they killed Refaat, there was nothing new
about the rows of bodies rolled up in stark white shrouds,
surprisingly unbesmirched by dust or blood