Link to work: https://dirtychaimag.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/dcissue10_last1.pdf He clung to it. White knuckled the stem. Dropped a seed in the belly of our family. Took a long swig. Took too many touches that left bruises. Put his hands on the things he hadn't made. Ruined them. Beat the Spanish out of her. Made sure he looked long and hard at the gold liquid in the bottle. Pondered how deep it went. Pondered his own children. Considered where his hands had been. Took the
Link to work: http://www.amethystarsenic.com/issues/6-1/sarah-frances-moran.php La Bandera ("The Flag") Verde blanco y colorado, la bandera del soldado.
Green, white, and red, the flag of the soldier. We draw a line in the sand and hop to the
white side. Guns drawn and ready.
Wave a far away hello to the Mexican side. Momma always balanced well on the line;
Made a habit of dipping her toe into the Mexican
waters despite warnings. Our light skin has been a blessing. I
Link to work: http://www.tinderboxpoetry.com/la-dama-the-lady La Dama (“the lady”) Puliendo el paso, por toda la calle real. Polishing as she steps, all along the royal street. Siempre esta en mi Corazon, she says this to me. Rolls te quiero mucho from her tongue and I am broken. I don’t know that she knows that I am broken. That mi dama was polished before I understood what polished meant. That I was dropped and swept up by the busted broom of mi familia. That somewhere bet
Link to work: http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal/poem-where-love-becomes-our-end-times-and-we-choose-that-dance-anyway for Pulse
We aren’t supposed
to use love
in a poem,
piled in every
the pink sheep,
in every corner It is stacked with
all pump and spit
Stack the love,
open the door
imagine the strobe lights
Imagine the break
of lightning and difference.
All of the desire that leaves a
Link to work: https://drunkinamidnightchoir.com/2016/06/13/dos-pajaros/ Dos Pájaros for all the two-spirited birds of Pulse The songbird sings and pulls on the cords inside you. We are it, doubled, perched in the Evergreen. Inside our song: the fish swims with currents it can barely breathe in the wind blows with directions that rival the river the mountains move minuscule, shifting the world in ways it isn’t meant to. Two-spirits. Two-ways to move. Two-ways to pulse, throb
Link to work: http://www.drunkmonkeys.us/poetry/2016/5/27/poetry-still-alive-and-well-sarah-frances-moran Inside my body rests this adventurer.
I know it was birthed by you. The way fresh air
fills your lungs and how a campfire and a cold beer
can be like heaven.
Riding bikes down bayou banks
and tiptoe walking across railroad bridges. We are wanderers. Romantic gypsies just a little
misunderstood. Do you remember giggling children fake
Boot- stomped WWF Style? Yo