“First Kiss” By David M. Taylor

I’m tired of writing poems about being a black man, the bitterness that comes from a dream deferred and the whiteness of police. But these stories pay the bills better than sentimentality and recalling the first time I kissed a girl when I was twelve years old. It wouldn’t matter anyway unless I said she …

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“Standing in the Rain” By Elisha James Jones

They hung Grandad from this tree. Feels strange to sit under it now. I guess it was bound to happen at some point, with the tree being in the middle of the only road between home and town. But still, even with my clothes all wet I guess it could be worse, even as hard …

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