by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
By Shandrease Cushionberry Emerging from the pond Fully bloomed in the rays Lotus flower bomb In the grass we lay Protect me with white heather In these summer days For autumn will arise Dormant begonia haze Stagnant brumal solitude Bring pink carnation craze And with spring in full bloom Withered…
By Shandrease Cushionberry My father was a shadowy Moreno until the day of his funeral. He was what I would call a black Dominican. My mother is a black woman. I am her only child, her little black girl. “Te quiero mi negrita,” she sometimes says to me. And I…