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 Regina Thomas We’d needed a trip to get away. From what, I’m not sure. But Geneve said we needed to get away, so we got away. The first night I was the one who made the mistake of discovery. I’d been looking around for any possible entertainment after determining…
