Articles in Arts in Society tagged with Poem

I once wrote letters to a prisoner at Guantánamo. The letters always came back / opened.

The first capturing your gaze into nowhere
the other when you covered your face with your hands
so you were not anonymous, only unseen

a sunset makes a sound doesn't it
I learned    too late

Who did this to you?

in 1989 you walk the main road to /
Tiananmen when the inexplicable /
hits

Why didn't I just say / people like us here / at this table / should not just talk about politics

Relying a little less on the odd language we’d been left inside / we turned back to feeling: — / more moan, more mumble.

Drowning is something that happens to others, not to them.

trudging back to Eden.