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 Mehrnoosh Torbatnejad The calico returns to the living room after scamper in backyard jungle, bringing with him the rustle that animals do while loitering in their owner’s home I do not turn to the familiar stir of paws inching against carpet when he enters, but I hear the swish…
