Already they are saying that your blood reached the shores of Gaza before your aid. Yes, you are dead now, along with many Palestinians. Ben-Gurion wanted to save Israel, Jewish children be damned! As far as I can see, he saved no one, as Israelis walk the streets fearful of retaliation. Is this why we [...]

American Life in Poetry: Column 270 BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 We are sometimes amazed by how well the visually impaired navigate the world, but like the rest of us, they have found a way to do what interests them. Here Jan Mordenski of Michigan describes her mother, absorbed in crocheting. Crochet Even [...]

Little Poem That Lies Pronounciation: \ˈli-təl\ \ˈpō-əm, -im, ˈpōm also ˈpȯ(-)im, ˈpō-ˌem\ \ˈthat, thət\ \ˈlīs\ Function: hurt destruction unnecessary bullshit fuck you pain that nobody needs kind of thing Etymology: You Date: Now, yesterday, & hopefully fewer and fewer tomorrows 〈 And I’m lookin’ in the mirror all the time Wonderin’ what she don’t see [...]

I am afraid to get distracted from my chess – your lips are an infinite well of calling I want to turn these moves over in my mind but you are there whipping up fun with your tongue Even as I try to populate my thoughts with Knights and Queens your toes are prancing up [...]

Let’s talk about 9/11. Or not. We are the anti-war movement. We don’t talk about violence. We talk about Violence. We don’t talk about how it’s in the alley and around the corner and in my bedroom and in a father’s fist to his child’s face. We don’t consciously walk around with targets on our [...]

This was written in another era of my life. Perhaps it is hard for an outsider to understand but I look at it and smile: I survived with and because of it. I think it’s important to occasionally honor the steps in between that lead us to the more refined pieces of poetry that we [...]

And now there is oil pouring out of my veins. The plumes are spectacular: you can see them all over Arizona drenching everyone confusing homeland security no not that one (since 1492) but the gringos, the chingadores who want my finger prints who want to keep me or dispense depends on how worthless I am. [...]

A Palestinian looked at Africville and said This looks familiar In Israel, people (thieves) want to live on the land In Africville, they (thieves) just wanted a bridge A bridge between white peoples. On top of Black peoples. On their backs. A story we know. Too, too well.

I imagine Cate Marvin does everything elegantly. I know this is wrong. Her poetry is violent and wrongly right. It glamorously drapes itself over horse cock and burning buildings, and it does this because she must be so completely inelegant. And she can be revered as utterly perfect for being willing to write about it. [...]

We may think that because in this place there once sat a person, even as that person has moved on in death or life to elsewhere, that the house is a proxy that we are breathing them in: surrounded, as it were. This is not true. The memories we breath in? They are in our [...]