By Erika Meitner, Photography by Anna Maria Barry-Jester
Miami’s Built Environment at the Crossroads
By Ama Codjoe
after Romare Bearden’s Patchwork Quilt (1969)
My back is turned from him again, but this time I’m not hunched over the quilt—his rough thumbs gripping my waist—I’m standing
Three nudes crudely drawn. One crouching,
back turned, right hand feeding the turtle
of the painting’s title; another sitting, as if in a chair,
head bowed, eyes downcast; and a central
By Airea D. Matthews
Digging in dregs of trashto find the bird my father neededto get well, I tore a vanishing line across the length of my palm.
The wings deceive. They do not spreadand thinly slice the air. They rest limp,almost useless. Dragonfly shape without its dignity.
By Tomás Q. Morín
for Jessica Alba & Danny Trejo
There has been so much death. So much killing. From space, the wall along the Rio Grande isn’t even a shadow of a shadow.
a woman who doesn’t read many poems asks is poetry meant to be
By Christopher Soto
This life’s so small & // Sweet as a strawberry
We watched the women play harp in // The hills of grass
Koreatown, Los Angeles
Gwendolyn Brooks stood stark naked.I stared into her bespectacled eyes.
Ms. Brooks showed me how to tend to myself by scrubbing dead skin
By Andy Eaton, Illustrations by Denise Nestor
In his response to my first letter to him, Charles Wright said of my own decision to write poems, “I hope it gives you what it has given me—a life.” I took this wide view from such a hard gazer of a poet as both balm and call.
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