PINK

by Sandra Anfang

I didn’t think they’d do it

I thought it was a bluff.

 

Fifty years of progress

and the promise of more 

wrung like rags and tossed away.

 

Metal hanger signs dot the crowd. 

Bitter copper paints my tongue.

 

Red tears defile our cheeks

divide us into stars and stripes.

Iodine and salt set the stain

 

as the monthly blood of women 

swirls in pinwheel patterns

 

down the snowy drains

of smug old men who mock

our mock democracy.

 

Is that Sisyphus ahead

pushing his bloody burden up the hill

of fat white lies? Senators puff stogies

 

turn on their heels to leer as the

pageant of female flesh flows by

 

shouting, pumping fists and rage

marching in our pink pussy hats.

 

I can see from their lewd smiles

that this is entertainment of the

you look pretty when you’re angry kind.

 

It’s time to take a knee, sisters, every time

that cursed pledge is mouthed.

 

With liberty and justice for all we stand

united, ready to lift each other up.

We are at your cervix, America.

Author’s Note: My small town held a rally and march on Saturday that attracted hundreds of protestors, including many men and children. I'm holding the big sign in the photo by Beth Schlanker in the Santa Rosa Press Democrat, with my ninety-year-old friend.

 

Sandra Anfang is a California poet, teacher, and artist. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals including Rattle, The New Verse News, The MacGuffin, and Spillway. Her poetry collections include Looking Glass Heart (Finishing Line Press, 2016), Road Worrier (Finishing Line Press, 2018), and Xylem Highway (Main Street Rag, 2019). Kelsay Books will publish her chapbook Finishing School in early 2023. She’s been nominated for a Best Short Fictions award, Best of the Net, and a Pushcart Prize. Anfang is founder and host of the monthly series, Rivertown Poets (established 2013), and a poetry teacher in the schools.

IN STATES OF SUSPENSION (& HOPE) :: OF LEAKS, TWEAKS, & BREACH

by Jen Schneider

amidst stunned

states & stunning

breaches

 

alongside

whispers 

turned quakes

 

& leaks 

turned looks

 

that suggest pens

both feared 

and feathered

 

have chosen a line

on which to claim 

their fight

 

            stains 

                        stomps           

squashes 

states 

   rights

 

one can pray (in spaces

of religious neutrality)

 

that the ink 

blot will be contained

           

stains 

                        stomps 

squashes 

            states 

   rights

& that the breaking

news is merely 

a sign of the times

 

turbulence

amidst days 

heavy of bait

 

            stains 

                        stomps 

squashes 

            states 

   rights

 

rather than

an alert  

of the (dark) ages

& finalized pages

 

            so that fifty years

 

of reproductive rights

remains on & of books 

produced

with no breaks

 

stitched tight

not of patchwork

but of federal right

 

& of plights

with no turns

 

& of nights

with no detours

 

& ideologies

remain unstamped

 

in sacred (politically

neutral) spaces

of individual (personally

critical) places

 

            of individual

rights

 

before

the ink dries

 

hope resists

            & remains      

resolute

 

that quakes  

settle 

& reproductive 

freedom

 

persists

Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Recent works include A Collection of Recollections, Invisible Ink, On Habits & Habitats, and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups.

WHERE THE WHITE PEOPLE ARE: WOMEN'S REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS

by J. Bradley

Image source: Daily Kos

Feed yourself until you are thick,
as a strip mall. Tattoo your Tax ID
on your forearm, your neck.

Answer quickly when asked about
your EBITDA. Answer quickly
when asked about what was gained
from what was written off.

When you purchase your first Congressman,
we might begin to listen.


J. Bradley is the author of the graphic poetry collection, The Bones of Us (YesYes Books, 2014), with art by Adam Scott Mazer.

DRIVE-BY PROTEST

by Mark Danowsky





Whatever games are played with us, we must play no games with ourselves.
                                                                                   -Ralph Waldo Emerson


I’m listening to DFW read This is Water
while driving Route 30 midday
on office errands.

This time, I slow down
& shake my fist at two human billboards
in protest of their protest
against women’s reproductive rights.

The result could have been scryed.

One of them shakes a fist right back
as if to settle our discourse—
the way you inch your car
closer to an intersection
& the car at your side or behind
predictably inches that much closer.


Mark Danowsky’s poetry has recently appeared in Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Red River Review, Right Hand Pointing, Snow Monkey and The Best of Every Day Poets Anthology Two.  He resides in Northwest Philadelphia and works for a private detective agency.