A poem likes scraping and burnishing

the prepared surface of the copper,

is frequently found note-taking copiously

from The Fantastic Historia Animalium of the Rain

A poem makes herself tiny as a waterbear

or a tardygrade,

a mite able to survive freezing, boiling

able to go into suspended animation

for one hundred years, if need be.

Penelope Shuttle

Kemo Sabe

In my dream I take the white man

slap him til he loves me.

I tie him to the house,

take his land & buffalo.

I put other words into his mouth,

words he doesn’t understand

like spoonfuls of smashed lima beans

until his cheeks bulge.

Chew now, dear, I say.

I flick his throat until he swallows.

He works all day,

never leaves the house.

The floors shine,

the sheets are starched.

He wipes grime from the windows

until clouds dance across the glass.

He feeds me when I’m hungry.

I can leave whenever I want.

Let him struggle for his dignity,

this time let him remember

my name.

Diane Glancy

When to Write

When your fists are ready to paint faces

When there is nowhere to confide

When your skin lingers high above your bones

and you’re so out of touch with self,

Write.

When the mouth fails you

and shyness strangles

and your throat becomes tight,

Write.

When your eyes won’t dry,

Write.

Before your fight

Before you fall,

Write.

When they lie to you

When they hurt you

When they leave you,

Write.

And if they return,

And they have listened

You better write.

When the urge arises

Step out of the shower

And write.

When the world denies you

Find you power

And write.

When they speak of a freedom that doesn’t include you . . .

Write away those bars

Write together your scars

Write around your wounds

Write into your womb

Write upwards

Write inwards

Write through and write around

Absolutely everything that tries to steal your sound.

Sophia Thakur

The cypher

A circle. Shoulders and hard chests and arms like rosary beads

from push-ups before bed, eyes narrowed.

We wear our hoods up. We talk in couplets.

Two lines at a time and my heart has

never been calmer than here,

in the cypher.

I stare at my trainers and listen to deep voices

throwing out lyrics through smoke.

I know I can do this much better than them.

I can feel it. Something like stillness,

but nothing like stillness.

It creeps up my throat like water creeps down it.

It spreads itself over my tongue.

My shoulders are squared.

I move like the boys,

I talk like the boys,

but my words are my own.

And when I unleash them, my eyes widen and focus.

The streetlights stop flickering, just for a moment,

the arrogance prickles like sweat at my temples,

I’m moving as if I have never been gentle.

The kinder among them look at me sideways.

Smiling, shaking their heads,

I feel it all through me.

It’s shaking my legs.