The Noon Executions, by Susan M. Gelles
They heard the shots, and the cheers, and every Saturday night they drank to celebrate the everlasting strength of the regime.
Thirteen, by Rebecca Foust
I was thirteen, and there was a boy’s mouth / where my legs met.
by Stephanie Vanderslice
I can tell you this now. Both times I was pregnant, I worried. I doubted my ability to raise a girl.
by Dino Parenti
One unremarkable March day, a man began puncturing random holes in his withered pasture with a post-hole digger.
by Benjamin Aleshire
I travel around the world and strangers pay me to write poems for them on a typewriter in the street—that’s how I’ve made my living for the last eight years.
by Tori Malcangio
In the dark, from my twin bed, I listen to Romy and her latest visitor in the sheets.
by Alle C. Hall
She was eight and at the beach and she felt like a movie star.
by Barbara P. Greenbaum
There is a woman in the booth next to us. / She looks at me as I remove my new hat.
by Renee Agatep
When she finally dies / she’ll meekly ask God why was it all / clattering highchairs, whiskers on stained sinks
by David Watts
At Jenner-by-the-Sea we scurry / over boulders to the place / where the breakers bear down
by Rebecca Foust
I made soup tonight, with cabbage, chard / and thyme picked outside our back door.
by Melissa Hart
On the Friday before Election Day, I shivered on the side of a busy street in Eugene, Oregon wearing a costume from the Disney film Frozen and holding a giant orange sign that read “Do You Want to Build a Democracy?”