don't die press

My Mother is Bone White and Black

by , on
2019-12-05

Editor’s Note: Watch the don’t die press blog for some oldies but goodies from an earlier era of S/tick!

by Megan Harris

My mother is bone white and black
daughter born from cocaine breath
came out on the cusp of winter.
A wispy gasp and darkened heart
skin is paper stretched over bone
white sheet, dark pen, dark red.
Mother warns daughter to not love death
to not long to feel his dark eyes
fall upon her breasts.
Daughter is of winter locking,
a chest begging to be opened to light,
fill the lungs with dirt and breathe life.
Mother is bone white and black,
her burning head stares down
Daughter turns away again – frozen.

(Issue 1.3: Torn)

For Muhlaysia

by , on
2019-11-20

Excerpt of a poem by Anastasia Walker

They beat you under the Texas sun in
A goddamn parking lot, one two four
Eight ten kicking punching howling
Filming so they could pretend
It was everyone and not just them
Who were unmanned
By a beauty that held
A mirror to their squalid smallness

Woman holding sign that says "Respect All Women"
Above photo by T. Chick McClure on Unsplash
Photo of Trans Pride flag by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash