When I see an animal alone in the biggest field
I wonder if they are lonely or if I’m projecting.
Every night this winter a parade
of brake lights, the backstory.
Lady Liberty
your huddled masses have arrived
and we can’t breathe.
Lady Liberty
You need glasses
If I love Nicaragua, I must criticize Nicaragua — Nicaragua, as a society, as a government — because I care about it. … No healthy patriotism comes from the notion that the things you love are above critique. Where there is injustice, oppression, flawed systems within your society, country, government, religion, family, we must speak out.
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“We are trying our best to bring forth every strand of Latinidad and also be able to put the idea of “Latinidad” under a microscope and criticize it and dig up its dirt and try to shut down anti-blackness. We’re starting to come to terms with the fact that Latinx isn’t a race, even if it is a marginalized group heavily targeted by the president. Everything is constantly redefining itself and it’s nice to be a part of the cycle.”
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For many of these writers, their Latinx identity and commitment to their craft are inseparable. Jiménez says she has been writing poetry for as long as she can remember — and being Latinx, being Puerto Rican, is a crucial part of that. “I think that’s the way most of us see our artmarking,” she says. “That’s just a part of who we are, and how we move in the world.”
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When I see an animal alone in the biggest field
I wonder if they are lonely or if I’m projecting.
Every night this winter a parade
of brake lights, the backstory.
by Erin Hyatt
Here, it is always 1985.
There is spoiled chicken
salad on the patio furniture;
there are apricots
rotting on the ground.
I sink my teeth into July,
and boil orange fruit to the bone
on a gasoline fire that stinks
like rust. Just down the road,
an old tractor hums back to life.
by Abigail Gallen Abigail Gallen is a 17-year-old rising senior at Lincoln Park Performing Arts Charter School. She is the founder and president of the Social Justice Club at North Allegheny High School, and […]
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by Tresa Murphy Green Did you know what it meant to the ocean when you ran from its tide? When fear exacerbated your motions & the salt waters were too vast to hide did you know […]
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by Kayla Sargeson White car/no “Lyft” sticker. He bops his head to his friend’s mixtape, some wannabe Lil Pump shit. Do you want a donut? he says. Hands me a yellow store bag, cold maple donuts […]
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by Christina Springer A night manager accepts the moon’s detritus fills ‘n empties her. In battered women’s West Virginia, my shelter is deep down the hollow’s gaping crack. Past trailers like lice, crab grass, on blocks […]
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by James Croal Jackson Death is in the shriveled blue and purple hydrangea bouquet I gifted you. Kathy bought the same, smaller, but they did not last so much as linger. Mom calls me from Macy’s— […]
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