By Kristal Peace (This poem contains domestic abuse.) My mother holdsMy hand as we navigateThe city’s streets during rush hour,The song of sirens escorting us home.She holds the grocery bagThat yanks her toward dinner. She holdsThe sharp words my fatherFlings at her when she thinksThe day is going well. She…
By Maria Lipiskova Translated by Martin Zlatev It can be black and white as a poem about the women reflected in the eyeglasses moving over the flat shadows of this winter Peterburg with black shoes like scissors in which the steps entered their black hands and black gestures in the…
