The Inner Voice by Laura Foley
You’re not using your good fortune,
think of your sisters’ mental diseases—
of Syria, Jerusalem, seething,
You should be doing more, the inner voice nags.
In Praise of Detours
At the starting line of my white
suburban guilt, I first foresaw a tweedy
liberal blue-blood in my future,
a family friend. Then—God forbid—
a disheveled manic angel.
I Am Thinking Always of Exposed Skin
to say whether or not I am ashamed
of the moving or the witness, the whiteness.
My mother said: a scar is the temple veil at dusk sewn together out of panic
Two Poems by John Sibley Williams
We beat the rain from hanging
undershirts & sing like nothing
the sky can do can rust the birds
from our mouths.
Studies for an Embrace by Corey Miller
On the kitchen wall some faux-antique signs (about what family stands for, about what
home means) that’ve had time beaten into them with socks full of nails.
Two Poems by Lauren K. Alleyne
when I read the news
and try to put out the flames
that crawl across my skin,
forget it. But my tongue tastes
like ash. My hands wisp into smoke,
hold nothing but history.
Two Poems by Leigh Anne Couch
I play the twin birches like a musical instrument:
missing is to lost as go is to leave.
To the spider bags or sacs of flies
woven like god’s eyes in the trees’ hips
I say, batting, batting, the quintessence
of spring. If the eye were an animal, sight would be its soul.
If the heart were a pond, woe to thirsty birds
in winter with nowhere to light
Two Poems by Nida Sophasarun
At night I think about my mother —
how she no longer inhabits
all the rooms in her body.
I wonder if in her dreams
she walks outside or even flies
over the corrugated roof.