Free The Best American Poetry 2015 by David Lehman Page A

laughing, regaining
    her balance,
    planting her feet in a samurai stance.
    She brandishes her splinter.
    There’s no harm in letting her
    take another turn
    without turning
    her around again.
    We think we know how this ends,
    how good it feels to play at this,
    violence and darkness,
    the beast
    that harbors something sweet.
    from The Hopkins Review

DONNA MASINI
----
Anxieties

    It’s like ants
    and more ants.
    West, east
    their little axes
    hack and tease.
    Your sins. Your back taxes.
    This is your Etna,
    your senate
    of dread, at the axis
    of reason, your taxi
    to hell. You see
    your past tense—
    and next? a nest
    of jittery ties.
    You’re ill at ease,
    at sea
    almost in-
    sane. You’ve eaten
    your saints.
    You pray to your sins.
    Even sex
    is no exit.
    Ah, you exist.
    from Poem-a-Day

AIREA D. MATTHEWS
----
If My Late Grandmother Were Gertrude Stein

    I. Southern Migration
    Leech. Broke speech. Leaf ain’t pruning pot. Lay. Lye. Lie. Hair straight off. Arrowed branch and horse joint. Elbow ash. Row fish. Row dog. Slow-milk pig. Blue-water sister. Hogs like willow. Weep crow. Weep cow. Sow bug. Soul narrow. Inchway. Inches away. Over the bridge. Back that way. Fur. Fir needles in coal. Black hole. Black out. Black feet. Blame. Long way still. Not there. There. Here. Same.
    II. Feed the Saw
    Old Crow. Liquor. Drink. Drunk. Girdle. Grits. Grit. Tea. Grit tea. Tea git. Get shaved. Shook. Shucked. Shit. Flour. Flower. Lard and swallow. Hardedge chew. Chipped tooth bite. Tool chip. Bite. Bloat. Bloat. Bloat. Blight seat. Blight sit tea. Be light city. Down town dim. Slight dark. Old Arc. New Arc. New Ark. New work. Newark. Lark-fed. Corned bread. Bedfeather back. Sunday-shack church fat. Greased gloved. Dust-rubbed. Love cheap-heeled shoes. Window seat. Mirror eye. Window. I. Window. Window. When though. When though. Wind blow. November. December. No cinder. No slumber. No summer. Branch. Branched. Blanched. Fried. Freed. Fly. Want. What. Want. What. Graves want.
    III. Miscegenation
    Good. Smooth. Curly-haired baby. Baby rock-a-bye. My baby. Mama rock-a-bye that baby. Wrestle the earth, baby. No dirt. No. Dirt-shine. Shine. Shine-neck. Porcelain. Tin. Tarnish. Powder milk. Pout her. Milk. Powder-silk inheritance. Front the washtub. Top the bed. Bin. Leaky numbers run in. Run in. Run on. Red fevers hold your palm. Sweat it out. Hot. Hot. Heat the rest. Pretty melt that wax. Wide flower. Ellis-Island daddy. O, Daddy’s bar. Banned. Mongrel hum. Come. Come now. Little bones bend. Old crack. Creak. Crank. Crick. Curly-Q. Fuck. Them. Then fuck them. You hear me. Walk through good-haired baby. Half of you. Belong.
    IV. Gertrude Stein
    Who. Bills mount. Picasso. Who. Matisse. Who. Mortgage. No currency canvass. Pay brushes. Stroke. Stroke. Bridge. Brittle. Blend. 10 miles daybreak. 10 miles they break. They broke. No brick. Widgets in the envelope. No railroad green. Agriculture. Pea snap. Earth under nails. Spine and stilt woman. Roach-kill heel woman. Roaches in the crawl. Woman, creep. Keep 5th grade. Every where. Wear every where. We’re every. Where. Any. How. We sacrifice and hammer. They sacrifice the hammer. Never. Ax and hatchet make callous. Hard hand. Prison-pen privilege. Prison. Privilege pinned. Bar-thorn pinned. Pine cross. Crown. Weight. Wait. Iron is harder. Chicken fat can is full of spark. Spark kill. Ore. Sparkle. Or. Spark cull. Spark. Cull. Hoe. Heave. Heave-holy. Heavy. Heavy. Heavy lights genius. That is that Gertrude. Who.
    from Kinfolks Quarterly

JAMAAL MAY
----
There Are Birds Here

    for Detroit
    There are birds here,
    so many birds here
    is what I was trying to say
    when they said those birds were metaphors
    for what is trapped
    between fences
    and buildings. No.
    The birds are here
    to root around for bread
    the girl’s hands tear
    and toss like confetti. No,
    I don’t mean the bread is torn like cotton,
    I said confetti, and no
    not the confetti
    a tank can make