April 2013 | back-issues, poetry
We Are Burgeoning Like We Always Thought We Would For Our Individual Selves Seeking Truth As We Know It To Be, Surveying The Course We Surmise Each Should Go
Come here!
I’m not going over there!
Beneath The Dust And On The Shelves In A Warehouse In Wayne County Sits The Bitter Humiliation, Disconsolation, Nightmare and Violation of Thousands of Daughters; Dumped In Forgotten Boxes; Some Exposed To The Elements Of The Building
Folks were killed
while those men
ran free.
The Ritual Of Breakfast Steers Me To Coffee, Mostly For The Effect Of A Chemical; But Also To The Hunt Of A Singularly Wrapped And Seldom Stocked Chocolate Chip Cookie Held Together With Calories And Potato Starch
Why aren’t I
buying by the case?
by Kobina Wright
Kobina has written for publications such as LACMA Magazine, The Daily Titan, and CYH Magazine. In 2004 she wrote her third volume of poetry titled, “Say It! Say Gen-o-cide!!” − dedicated to the Rwandan Genocide of 1994. In 2009 she co-authored a volume of nuler poetry titled “A Crime And A Simplification Of Something Sublime.” In 2010 she wrote a volume of nuler poetry titled, “50.”
April 2013 | back-issues, poetry
Hazel colored Kolmården,
a marble cutter,
showed me one morning.
That’s what her eyes,
looked like against nightfall,
when she begged.
“Save me,” she whispered,
as feathers formed,
and drifted in the same breath.
I exhaled smoke,
And watched,
galaxies vanish between our lips.
What about my concrete,
and harbored self,
led her to ask?
Which vials possessed her
to prophesize,
a messiah in me?
by Romila Barryman
April 2013 | back-issues, poetry
bummed a
cigarette from a man
with tattoos and Marlboros
he said I don’t need a quarter and I don’t smoke weed
and I felt ashamed
asked a lady at south
station for directions she thought
I was asking for change but sighed and said I’m looking for congress street too we walked together and she told me she ventured thirty miles into this
city on this sunny Friday afternoon
to do her taxes
and I wanted to hold my head under murky water until my ears rang with stillness
I felt so ashamed
saw a woman in the public
gardens knee-deep in slush running like mad throwing
peanuts, searching for a he or she or it or them named pinky
saw her succumb to the snow as she started to wail
and I felt
by Emily Woods
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