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 Stephen Groak I have always loved my sister, enough to almost kill her. I loved her when I threw a dart in her leg. I loved her when I farted in her face. I loved her when I would slog any short-pitched cricket bowl she would send my way…
