SHHHH

by stella graham-landau

in memory of Andrea Gibson 
13 August 1975 — 14 July 2025

quiet settles on the sheets
eyelids closed
one final rest

their smile remains
last memory last touch
last blessing inhaled exhaled

their passion lifts 
into the air around us
ignites our faith

their lines of poetry 
vine around our hearts 
their legacy already in bloom

be inspired
let yourselves lean into joy
dig deeper into all aspects of life

every step 
every breath
carry hope forward

shhhh
now smile
all is well

stella lives in richmond, va and has been published in The 

New Verse News several times as well as in regional publications. she's grateful for the wonderful poetry communities that exist, encouraging all of us to find our voices and share our truths and wonderings.

CINDER AND SADNESS

by Tricia L. Somers

AP File Photo Deir Al-Balah, Gaza Strip, October 2023

Cinder block pillows  

and satin tears

Our sheets tied

into escape hatches again

The exquisite pain

of a child a mortal sin

Who has enough courage

to not slaughter the children ?

Who is strong enough

to resist the temptation

to crush the soft spot

of a newborn baby's skull?

Anyone? Anyone at all?

Every last Palestinian child

has more bravery and heart

than the moral army

sent to "cut the grass"

With each child killed

we go more in the red

We're going down fast

A centrifugal vortex

Are you strong enough

to win an election ?

Or too weak to stop

the killing of children?

Tricia L. Somers is in Los Angeles CA where she lives with her Significant Other and a couple of other crazy cats. You can find her work on the pages of The American Dissident. Online her poetry can be found at The New Verse News and Rat's Ass Review. For a different perspective on current issues visit her at Bitch n Complain on Substack.

TOUGH LOVE

by Katie Kemple

Illustration by Chelsea Charles for The Washington Post

Product of flesh, moldable 

robot, we blank out

your name, hide your limbs 

in a cross, until your head 

can’t hold itself up anymore. 

You fucked-up. That’s why 

we come for you at 3am, 

tell you to get dressed, 

handcuff your spoiled wrists, 

escort you to our car. 

Your parents watch. 

They hired us. In America, 

our tax dollars fund it.

Through the rear-view

mirror, I see you trying 

to memorize the route. 

Don’t bother. The place 

we’re going, you won’t 

get out. We strip you naked, 

yell: “cough!” You do it. 

We probe the secrets 

of your body. No drugs 

in your cavities. Prepare to rot, 

bitch. Now get going, 

I say: “git!” Your walls 

are concrete. The women 

have pressed the white sheets 

of the last girl. The one 

who turned herself into 

a scarecrow. Yours now, 

sleep. Rest your eyelid 

on the stain of her 

slutty-blue mascara. 

Author's Note: This poem is in response to Rachel Aviv’s New Yorker article “The Shadow Penal System For Struggling Kids” (October 18) and Paris Hilton’s Washington Post op-ed “America’s ‘troubled teen industry’ needs reform so kids can avoid the abuse I endured” (October 18). Both articles detail toxic, cult-like organizations that trap unsuspecting youth into a shadow penal system. Once surrendered by their parents, it’s nearly impossible for victims to escape. These companies come for children at night, subject them to strip searches, and inflict psychologically damaging treatments under the guise of "tough love". There are no laws to protect minors in the custody of these groups. In fact, they receive state and federal funds for their services. 

Katie Kemple (she/her) is a poet, parent, and consultant  in San Diego, CA. Her poems have appeared, or are forthcoming, in Atlanta Review, Longleaf Review, Matter, Lunch Ticket (Amuse-Bouche), and Anti-Heroin Chic.

DRESSING UP THE TRADITION

by Margaret Rozga

It’s still raw there, there at the lunch counters
of our minds, our souls. Closing Woolworth’s
could not erase it, not given its firmly-fixed seat,
nor could putting sheets back on beds,
snarling dogs back in kennels.  Patronizing
faces in high places, crosses still
burn, codes still smolder, singe
those too young to know what a noose is.
Suit and tie it, it’s still a night rider.


Margaret Rozga has published three books: Two Hundred Nights and One Day, Though I Haven’t Been to Baghdad, and her latest   Justice   Freedom   Herbs.