Poetry

Mountain, Stone

By LENA KHALAF TUFFAHA

This poem is republished from Water & Salt by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha, a guest at Amherst College’s eleventh annual literary festival. Register and see the full list of LitFest 2026 events here.

Do not name your daughters Shaymaa,
courage will march them
into the bullet path of dictators.
Do not name them Sundus,
the garden of paradise calls out to its marigolds,
gathers its green leaves up in its embrace.
Do not name your children Malak or Raneem,
angels want the companionship of others like them,
their silvery wings trailing the filth of jail cells,
the trill of their laughter a call to prayer.

Mountain, Stone
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Poems from suddenly we by Evie Shockley

By EVIE SHOCKLEY

These poems are republished from suddenly we by Evie Shockley, a guest at Amherst College’s eleventh annual literary festival. Register and see the full list of LitFest 2026 events here.

Book cover of suddenly we

perched

i am black, comely,
a girl on the cusp of desire.
my dangling toes take the rest
the rest of my body refuses. spine upright,
my pose proposes anticipation. i poise
in copper-colored tension, intent on
manifesting my soul in the discouraging world.

under the rough eyes of others, i stiffen.

if i must be hard, it will be as a tree, alive
with change. inside me, a love of beauty rises
like sap, sprouts from my scalp
and stretches forth. i send out my song, an aria
blue and feathered, and grow toward it,
choirs bare, but soon to bud. i am
black and becoming.

after alison saar’s blue bird

 

women’s voting rights at one hundred (but who’s counting?)

eenie meenie minie moe
   catch a voter by her toe
if she hollers then you know
got yourself a real jane crow

                  ~ ~ ~

one vote is an opinion
with a quiet legal force ::
a barely audible beep
in the local traffic, & just
a plashless drop of mercury
in the national thermometer.
but a collectivity of votes
/a flock of votes, a pride of votes,
a murder of votes / can really
make some noise.

                  ~ ~ ~

one vote begets another
if you make a habit of it.
my mother started taking me
to the polls with her when i
was seven :: small, thrilled
to step in the booth, pull
the drab curtain hush-shut
behind us, & flip the levers
beside each name she pointed
to, the Xs clicking into view.
there, she called the shots.

                ~ ~ ~

rich gal, poor gal
hired girl, thief
teacher, journalist
vote your grief

               ~ ~ ~

one vote’s as good as another
:: still, in 1913, illinois’s gentle
suffragists, hearing southern
women would resent spotting
mrs. ida b. wells-barnett amidst
white marchers, gently kicked
their sister to the curb. but when
the march kicked off, ida got
right into formation, as planned.
the tribune’s photo showed
her present & accounted for.

                  ~ ~ ~

one vote can be hard to keep
an eye on :: but several / a
colony of votes / can’t scuttle
away unnoticed so easily. my
mother, veteran registrar for
our majority black election
district, once found—after
much searching—two bags
of ballots / a litter of votes /
stuffed in a janitorial closet.

                  ~ ~ ~

one-mississippi
two-mississippis

                  ~ ~ ~

one vote was all fannie lou
hamer wanted. in 1962, when
her constitutional right was
over forty years old, she tried
to register. all she got for her
trouble was literacy tested, poll
taxed, fired, evicted, & shot
at. a year of grassroots activism
nearly planted her mississippi
freedom democratic party
in the national convention.

                  ~ ~ ~

one vote per eligible voter
was all stacey abrams needed.
she nearly won the georgia
governor’s race in 2018 :: lost by
50,000 / an unkindness of votes /
to the man whose job was purg
maintaining the voter rolls.
days later, she rolled out plans
for getting voters a fair fight.
it’s been two years—& counting.

 

Excerpted from suddenly we by Evie Shockley. Copyright, © 2023 Evie Shockley. Reprinted with permission from Wesleyan University Press.

 

Evie Shockley thinks, creates and writes with her eye on a Black feminist horizon. Her books of poetry include Suddenly We (NAACP Image Award; National Book Award finalist), semiautomatic (Hurston/Wright Legacy Award; Pulitzer Prize finalist), and the new black (Hurston/Wright Legacy Award). Her literary criticism includes Renegade Poetics: Black Aesthetics and Formal Innovation in African American Poetry and numerous essays. Most recently, she is editor of the Norton Library edition of Harriet Jacobs’ Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. Among the honors for her body of work in poetry are the Academy Fellowship for Distinguished Poetic Achievement, the Shelley Memorial Award, the Lannan Literary Award for Poetry, the Holmes National Poetry Prize and the Stephen Henderson Award. Her joys include participating in poetry communities such as Cave Canem and collaborating with artists working in various media. Shockley is the Zora Neale Hurston Distinguished Professor of English at Rutgers University.

Poems from suddenly we by Evie Shockley
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Map

By MARIN SORESCU

Translated by DANIEL CARDEN NEMO

 

Translator’s note

Marin Sorescu, despite being one of the most translated Romanian writers, is one of the literary world’s best kept secrets. The reason for it, to my mind, lies squarely in the quality of existing English translations, as many of them have failed to capture his poetic essence. Twice nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature, he never received the award based on his translated work.

Like many of his poems, “Map” reveals Sorescu’s depth of thought and highly associative mind, and above all his ability to convey the most complex emotions and contemplations into a multi-layered poetry that remains accessible to all. The challenge in the translation here comes from the ability to convey an intimate, almost didactic exploration of the body, revealing the speaker’s vulnerability as he opens himself up for in(tro)spection. The body becomes a cartographic landscape, with known and uncharted areas, while the self is a terrain molded by time, animated by the soul, and inevitably oriented toward death. The poem blends stark physicality with cosmic metaphysics, suggesting that human identity, just like the Earth’s geography, contains vastness, complexity, and the unknowable. It is consciousness which imbues the world with dynamism. Without internal life, and perhaps without poetry, existence becomes static, ornamental.

Map
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Three Poems by Mary Angelino

By MARY ANGELINO

#giftinspo for Cottagecore Girls

A sculpture bunny leaning against a book
 

Dispatch from Santa Clarita, California,
    nowhere near a cozy forest cottage, August, 2025

Nose heavenward, ears like capsized canoes,
I unbox a silver-gray rabbit, painted to look

metal and heavy. My new useless
bookend. Plastic. Stiff and unsteady—

I would have missed it on a shelf, out shopping
like people used to do, maybe held its weight

Three Poems by Mary Angelino
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January 2026 Poetry Feature #1: U-topias

By JILL PEARLMAN

I
Wondrous, the emptiness so close, close to an absent sea,
only sea-fields, wheat-fields, golden stubble,
though we were walking together on a path to find the sea.

Wandering together under a wide horizon. 
On a road called Pas de l’Assassin.

January 2026 Poetry Feature #1: U-topias
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December 2025 Poetry Feature #2: Lauren Delapenha, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Robert Cording, and Rachel Hadas

New Work from LAUREN DELAPENHA, AIMEE NEZHUKUMATATHIL, ROBERT CORDING, and RACHEL HADAS

Table of Contents:
—Lauren Delapenha, “Exodus”
—Aimee Nezhukumatathil, “What They Didn’t Tell Me about Motherhood”
—Robert Cording, “A Sun”
—Rachel Hadas, “Matsinger Forest”

 

Headshot of Lauren Delapenha

 

Exodus
By Lauren Delapenha

The Times article is about the president’s mind
and Xerox-based enterprises like Kodak, Blockbuster, dead-end jobs, and marriages,

and I am so glad the article mentions marriages
given my recent apophatic commitment to romantic

ruination, because who among us hasn’t pressed a finger into the scab
for that foreign roughness, that delicious, needling shaft of sunk cost and thought

that anything is probable in the desert,
even Moses neatly halving an ocean for a nation

December 2025 Poetry Feature #2: Lauren Delapenha, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Robert Cording, and Rachel Hadas
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December 2025 Poetry Feature #1: Rodrigo Toscano, Olena Jennings, Ezza Ahmed, and Wyatt Townley

New work from RODRIGO TOSCANO, OLENA JENNINGS, EZZA AHMED, and WYATT TOWNLEY

Table of Contents:
—Rodrigo Toscano, “One Like”
—Olena Jennings, “The Pine”
—Ezza Ahmed, “The River That Was and Wasn’t”
—Wyatt Townley, “The Longest View” and “Christina’s World”

One Like
By Rodrigo Toscano 

“Couple Bach preludes, a binding ceasefire,
One Dickenson poem, and we’re all set”
That was the post, like a gleaming beach pier
Charming half way out, torn up at the tip
Battered by statecraft, departmental verse.

December 2025 Poetry Feature #1: Rodrigo Toscano, Olena Jennings, Ezza Ahmed, and Wyatt Townley
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November 2025 Poetry Feature: My Wallonia: Welcoming Dylan Carpenter

By DYLAN CARPENTER

This month we bring you work by Dylan Carpenter, a poet new to our pages. Dylan also has poetry in an upcoming print issue of The Common.

 

Let me, for a little longer, ponder that familiar place
I remember but would not, could not, and had refused to face

Wholly as a place unto itself, instead of an idea
That concealed a recherché emotion: My Wallonia.

How do I begin? The place that I endeavor to portray
Languishes, a somnolent geography, and slips away.

November 2025 Poetry Feature: My Wallonia: Welcoming Dylan Carpenter
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Two Poems by Ahmed Bouanani, translated by Lisa Mullenneaux

By AHMED BOUANANI

Translated by LISA MULLENNEAUX

Portrait of person smiling and holding up their hand. Turned to the right.

Photo courtesy of Archives Bouanani

This country

My country is this horizon with blank pages
where I see skeletons of broken children
wandering, begging for the light of thin wisps
of stories that might finally appease them

In hands the color of amaranth magic
they hold hippogriffs like dogs
a talisman to protect themselves from the lover
with hair braided into black shapes

Two Poems by Ahmed Bouanani, translated by Lisa Mullenneaux
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