Ed. Note: Another in our series of poems from poets who participated in Arlington Writers Resist on January 15, 2017 —for the parents of the...

for David Hutto Up there’s the interstate, peeping through trees. Down here among hollows, satellite dishes, a man on his deck guzzles beer, wishes he were driving that...

We can’t hide here—the only two white women in the front row of the Crossroads Theater in south L.A., where Isaac, the black man, stands on...

It was a small dark body, like a mouse. Unemployed, it still drove the car, pushing the TV out the passenger-side door, yellow chyme and bile the...

Today is just another Peanut Butter and Jelly day. 0.75 cents per sandwich retail. But by the time My daughter is 35, I am sure that it’ll be triple...

Avocado Secret When the widow wrote how her husband once said she was like a perfectly ripe avocado, I wanted to rush right out and buy one. Examine its tough exterior, creamy...

Island She would cry every time we put her in the carriage. That was all right, and the way I had to lean sideways to...

Only whiskey burns the sorrow as she grieves. Purple velvet once surrounded golden dreams. Both a season and a reason left on leave. Now a memory left...

L’Auteur Fatslug   Fatslug wonders how people dreamed or daydreamed before the movies infiltrated their thoughts. He himself has become his own Steven Spielberg— or, depending on his...

We can speak to the rain, but it does not say anything to us. “Why are you so strong? Why do you want to flood us?” we ask...