note from author: These are new translations from Abdourahman Waberi’s second collection of poems, Mon nom est aube (Naming the Dawn), under contract with Seagull Books (distributed by the U. of Chicago Press) for publication in Spring, 2018. I received an NEA literature translation fellowship Read More …
She does not like to wear dresses, her thighs rub her patience dry Her man’s gone but another will fill his place take his seat eat the food beat the children In the kitchen she coats the Costco bought chicken spices stinging the cuts in Read More …
My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me… Sometimes I wish someone up there would find me. “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” I’m in the audience, watching my daughter in solo dance. She writhes, closed eyes, blue light on her face, grimacing, fingers twirling arabesque Read More …
For my people, my fatties Our thunder thighs Our bountiful breasts Our arm rolls, back rolls, belly rolls, thigh rolls Our dimples on our cheeks, and knees, and cheeks Our glorious fat feet Our chubby fingers Our sweet double, triple chins Pudgy tummies Wide hips Read More …
Every time the question arises, In a room with shiny chandeliers, Colorful cocktails, And hushed ‘indoor’ voices, A bright, beautiful abstraction, Removed from the dark, cockroach-infested reality, Of too many cardboard boxes Carrying clothes, Carrying childhood memories, Carrying trauma, Smelling of the guilt of sacrifices, Read More …
I watch the birds to find out the news: who’s fat and ready for the holidays in his bright coat, who likes a bath after dinner. These autumn days the robins are flocking and the starlings frighten people who walk under the trees and think Read More …
no talk about. religion – any religion? find a place for mental illness, for pregnant and homeless it’s a real thorn. the subject: the political arena around pregnancy is pretty loaded. a felony, to find someone a place with no talk about religion – any religion. as soon as the babies Read More …
Two little girls with apocalyptic curls sit side-by-side in a chilly courtroom wearing perfectly ironed cardigans and haloes of frizz — like, real end-of-the-world tangles — and they are holding hands. A shiver; a lonely bay breeze washing in with the screech of a seagull Read More …
When wearing a bikini my friend laughs, says I am a beached whale. She has an athlete’s build, legs full, muscles firm. We lie on towels, poke our bellies, jiggle the skin of our thighs. We say tampons are harpoons. Like a man Read More …
When my teeth gnash and a hand flies to my mouth, as if to outsmart the spasm; when my lips twinge with a phantom numbness, and my cheeks flush, I realize how little control I have over my life, how swiftly it could be snatched Read More …