I was fifteen
in a small Alabama town
when I first heard your name
Edmund Pettus Bridge.
Their clubs cracked your bones.
Their tear gas clogged your lungs.
Their iron pipe almost ended your life.
But you stood up.
You walked on
for fifty years plus more
When you died
the earth slowed
the sun dimmed
the air thinned.
The world would never be the same.
Full smile baritone voice
Yet we are not alone.
You left us with your words
Walk with the wind, brothers and sisters,
and let the spirit of peace and the power
of everlasting love be your guide.
…raised in the Appalachian South and now living in Southern California with another writer and two feline boys, is a writer/teacher whose poetry and fiction appear in numerous anthologies and journals including DMQ Review, The Los Angeles Review, and New World Writing. Her recent collections of poetry are Good Trouble, Origami Poems Project, and Hell Hath, Maverick Duck Press. Lynette’s War, a micro-chapbook, will be issued by Ghost City Press this month.
I buy sunflowers today
canary yellow petals
stand them one by one
in an azure vase
7000 miles away tanks
roll across Ukrainian borders
trying to wipe them off the map
throw their bodies against bully armor
hearts forged in resistance
“When the Russians come for us, they will see our faces, not our backs.” —Volodymyr Zelenskyy
Zelenskyy takes off his suit and puts on battle fatigues,
stands in the streets, talks with his troops.
And when his fellow patriots can’t see him, literally,
he makes videos—calls to soldiers from every
continent to join freedom’s fight. “We are
all here, protecting our independence, our country,
the free world. This night will be difficult, but dawn
will come.” And it arrives, morning after morning,
despite tracers slicing the pitch black, despite
gutting of homes, hospitals, schools, & markets, despite
bombarding of Kherson, Kharkiv, Kyiv, Mariupol, &
Melitopol, despite screams & slaughter of civilians.
Then Russia turns its fire on Zaporizhzhia—home to
Europe’s largest nuclear plant, six reactors. Flaming
shells like falling stars cut into darkness. A huge orange
globe lights up the sky, exploding beside a car park.
Smoke billows. Radiation knows no borders. “We will not
lay down our weapons. Our weapons are our truth.”
…(she/her) is a writer and teacher whose poetry and fiction appear or are forthcoming in numerous anthologies and journals including DMQ Review, The Los Angeles Review, and Anti-Heroin Chic. She was raised in the Appalachian south and now lives in California. Her recent microchaps of poetry are Good Trouble, Origami Poems Project, and Hell Hath, Maverick Duck Press.