THE LONGEST MILE

by Laura Rodley

Coyote reaches Alcatraz via Instagram

Escaping the prison of civilization,

to Alcatraz, the desperadoes prison

that’s now a tourist site,

a lone coyote swam

one and a half miles

to land on the rocky beach,

emaciated and shivering.

Despite predictions of his demise,

the coyote, now named Floyd,

has gained weight.

How did he survive the swim?

Though San Francisco Bay

has warmed in increments,

the coyote swam in temps

similar to those

on December 17, 1962

when escaped prisoner John Paul Scott

swam in the other direction,

away from Alcatraz.

Suffering from hypothermia,

Scott was captured, and returned

to serve out his sentence.

Perhaps his ghost whispers now

into the coyote Floyd’s ears.

Perhaps Floyd whispers of his own escape,

while rangers plot to capture him

and bring him back.

Pushcart Prize winner Laura Rodley’s latest books are Turn Left at Normal by Big Table Press, and Counter Point, Legacy Award finalist. Her Ribbons and Moths: Poems for Children by Kelsay Books was selected as a finalist in the “Animals/Pets/Nature” Category in the 2025 Independent Author Network (IAN) Book of the Year Awards, won the 2024 International Book Award for Children's Nonfiction, eon the 2025 Bookfest for Nonfiction Outdoors, and Bronze in the Moonbeam Book Awards.

MISS CISSY TEACHES A MATH LESSON

by Sandra Anfang

George Floyd as a boy with his mother Larcenia, known as Miss Cissy, who died on May 30, 2018

.

My son George is dead. We lie 

under the earth in a quiet Houston

cemetery where we grieve together. 

All of Minneapolis is grieving.

Twenty-seven months from now

we will still be grieving.

I heard him call out for me

as he struggled for eight minutes

under the knee of the white cop

My name is tattooed on his belly.

We are connected at the core.

In twenty-seven years we will still be grieving.

I used to love the number twenty-seven:

three times three times three.

The number of black men police kill

each year has not changed since I died.

Twelve hundred sixty-five of my babies have

been felled, and they are all my babies.

Here they said. Take this money in exchange

for George’s life, but that won’t bring him back.

I cannot balance this equation. 

Three point three: the number

of millions our family was paid

for every minute that white cop 

pressed his hate into George’s neck.

Just forty-six, he was a dad and grandad.

The city has wiped the crime scene clean

but our pain is an indelible stain.

Money is a powerful mop. We will use it

to help the cause of black folks everywhere.

That white cop must be locked away

if that’s what it takes to end 

this circle of slaughter.

Sandra Anfang is an award-winning poet, poetry teacher, and editor. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals including San Francisco Peace and Hope, Spillway, The New Verse News, and Rattle. Her two chapbooks Looking Glass Heart and Road Worrier were published by Finishing Line Press in 2016 and 2018, respectively. Xylem Highway, a full-length collection, was published by Main Street Rag in 2019. Sandra teaches with California Poets in the Schools and hosts Rivertown Poets, a monthly reading series, in Petaluma, California. This poem was born of the twenty-seven-million-dollar settlement for George’s life by the city of Minneapolis this week.