Toi Derricotte: My dad & sardines
i’ve made an altar called
The Altar for Healing the Father & Child
Heidi Gerard: Addiction Recovery Is Hard. Funding It Shouldn’t Be
I work with moms and kids on their recovery journey. Funding for centers like mine is woefully small compared to the need.
Dawn Potter: The Way We Live Now
a man solitary as a grieving
arrow types
a text to his daughter and
the text feathers into the ether
Elizabeth Henderson: The GOP’s Stalinesque Plan 2025 to Shape the Future of U.S. Food and Agriculture
The conservative think tank Heritage Foundation wants to rid the USDA of sustainability, climate change mitigation, and racial equity.
Rose Mary Boehm: Summer Trance
As large as the hill, I become a green, languid
animal, a soft giant with giant eyes, become
green love. Fat bees buzz in my lavender bushes
Joshua Frank: You Can’t Turn Back the Clock on Genocide
Israel has quickly become a pariah of its own making, something that never had to happen, and from which there may be no turning back.
Alice Friman: The Apricot Tree
I’m walking the white-washed steps
winding the hills into town. The odor—
wild thyme and spearmint. And halfway, look,
an apricot tree ablaze with summer, heavy
with fruit.
Michael Simms: Blowtorch Bob And Other Particulars Of My Politics
In 1970 I went to my first anti-war demonstration. I was sixteen and my cousin Michael Ashie (People introduced us as “This is my friend Michael and this is his … Continue reading
Fred Johnston: The Summer Before We Were Killed in the War
We’d double scull the river, splitting the river
Like a scalpel through silk
Laurence Musgrove: Surely
wondering what we’d
have to do, to leave behind,
to lose, to grieve without stopping
Abby Zimet: To See Our Humanity
Israeli forces just dropped U.S.-made bombs on displaced Gazans, mostly women and children, sleeping in a UN school in Nuseirat refugee camp, killing at least 40 and injuring hundreds in yet another massacre of innocents that “contradicts all human values.”
Pascale Petit: The Moor Horses
And isn’t your blood free as a feral pony, coursing
through the uplands of your body?
Jason Irwin: A Slice of the American Dream
After my parents’ divorce was made official and my mother was forced to return to the workforce, we suddenly were labeled low-income.
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: Self-Portrait as Tuning Fork
and you quiver
as if struck by the great hand
of what is true
