In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, filmmaker, educator and performer, Fatimah Asghar. Their work has appeared in many journals, including  POETRY Magazine, Gulf Coast, BuzzFeed Reader, The Margins, The Offing, Academy of American Poets and many others.  Their work has been featured on new outlets like PBS, NPR, Time, Teen Vogue, Huffington Post, and others. In 2011, they created a spoken word poetry group in Bosnia and Herzegovina called REFLEKS while on a Fulbright studying theater in post-genocidal countries. They are a member of the Dark Noise Collective and a Kundiman Fellow. They are the writer and co-creator of Brown Girls, an Emmy-Nominated web series that highlights friendships between women of color.  Their debut book of poems, If They Come For Us, was released One World/ Random House, August 2018. Along with Safia Elhillo, they are the editor of Halal If You Hear Me, an anthology that celebrates Muslim writers who are also women, queer, gender nonconforming and/or trans. SourceThis episode includes a reading of their poem, “If They Come for Us”  featured in our 2023 Get Lit Anthology.“If They Come for Us”these are my people & I findthem on the street & shadowthrough any wild all wildmy people my peoplea dance of strangers in my bloodthe old woman’s sari dissolving to windbindi a new moon on her foreheadI claim her my kin & sewthe star of her to my breastthe toddler dangling from strollerhair a fountain of dandelion seedat the bakery I claim them toothe Sikh uncle at the airportwho apologizes for the patdown the Muslim man who abandonshis car at the traffic light dropsto his knees at the call of the Azan& the Muslim man who drinksgood whiskey at the start of maghribthe lone khala at the parkpairing her kurta with crocsmy people my people I can’t be lostwhen I see you my compassis brown & gold & bloodmy compass a Muslim teenagersnapback & high-tops gracingthe subway platformMashallah I claim them allmy country is madein my people’s imageif they come for you theycome for me too in the deadof winter a flock ofaunties step out on the sandtheir dupattas turn to oceana colony of uncles grind their palms& a thousand jasmines bell the airmy people I follow you like constellationswe hear glass smashing the street& the nights opening darkour names this country’s woodfor the fire my people my peoplethe long years we’ve survived the longyears yet to come I see you mapmy sky the light your lantern longahead & I follow I followSupport the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet and writer, Carolyn Forché. Coiner of the term “poetry of witness,” she is frequently characterized as a political poet; she calls for poetry to invest in the “social.” She published her first book of poetry, Gathering the Tribes, in 1975. Forché received a Guggenheim Foundation Fellowship after translating the work of Salvadoran-exiled poet Claribel Algería in 1977; the fellowship enabled her to work as a human rights advocate in El Salvador. She has published five books of poetry and the 2019 memoir What You Have Heard Is True. Her work is often described as “devastating” due to its searing honesty and unflinching accounting of travesties. Forché has been given various awards in recognition of her work on behalf of human rights and the preservation of culture and memory.This episode includes a reading of her poem, “The Boatman”  featured in our 2023 Get Lit Anthology.“The Boatman”We were thirty-one souls all, he said, on the gray-sick of seain a cold rubber boat, rising and falling in our filth.By morning this didn’t matter, no land was in sight,all were soaked to the bone, living and dead.We could still float, we said, from war to war.What lay behind us but ruins of stone piled on ruins of stone?City called “mother of the poor” surrounded by fieldsof cotton and millet, city of jewelers and cloak-makers,with the oldest church in Christendom and the Sword of Allah.If anyone remains there now, he assures, they would be utterly alone.There is a hotel named for it in Rome two hundred metersfrom the Piazza di Spagna, where you can have breakfast underthe portraits of film stars. There the staff cannot do enough for you.But I am talking nonsense again, as I have since that nightwe fetched a child, not ours, from the sea, drifting face-down in a life vest, its eyes taken by fish or the birds above us.After that, Aleppo went up in smoke, and Raqqa came under a rainof leaflets warning everyone to go. Leave, yes, but go where?We lived through the Americans and Russians, through Americansagain, many nights of death from the clouds, mornings surprisedto be waking from the sleep of death, still unburied and alivebut with no safe place. Leave, yes, we obey the leaflets, but go where?To the sea to be eaten, to the shores of Europe to be caged?To camp misery and camp remain here. I ask you then, where?You tell me you are a poet. If so, our destination is the same.I find myself now the boatman, driving a taxi at the end of the world.I will see that you arrive safely, my friend, I will get you there.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet and writer, Joy Har­jo. She is the 23rd Poet Lau­re­ate of the Unit­ed States and a mem­ber of the Mvskoke Nation and belongs to Oce Vpofv (Hick­o­ry Ground). She is only the sec­ond poet to be appoint­ed a third term as U.S. Poet Laureate. Har­jo began writ­ing poet­ry as a mem­ber of the Uni­ver­si­ty of New Mexico’s Native stu­dent orga­ni­za­tion, the Kiva Club, in response to Native empow­er­ment move­ments. Har­jo is the author of nine books of poet­ry, includ­ing her most recent, the high­ly acclaimed An Amer­i­can Sun­rise (2019), which was a 2020 Okla­homa Book Award Win­ner; Con­flict Res­o­lu­tion for Holy Beings (2015), which was short­list­ed for the Grif­fin Prize and named a Notable Book of the Year by the Amer­i­can Library Asso­ci­a­tion; and In Mad Love and War (1990), which received an Amer­i­can Book Award and the Del­more Schwartz Memo­r­i­al Award.  Har­jo per­forms with her sax­o­phone and flutes, solo and with her band, the Arrow Dynam­ics Band, and pre­vi­ous­ly with Joy Har­jo and Poet­ic Jus­tice.  Har­jo has pro­duced sev­en award-win­ning music albums includ­ing Wind­ing Through the Milky Way, for which she was award­ed a NAM­MY for Best Female Artist of the year.  SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, “Perhaps the World Ends Here”  featured in our 2024 Get Lit Anthology.“Perhaps the World Ends Here”The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, writer, and scholar, Lateef McLeod.  He published his first poetry book entitled A Declaration of A Body Of Love in 2010 chronicling his life as a black man with a disability and tackling various topics on family, dating, religion, spirituality, his national heritage and sexuality. He also published another poetry book entitled Whispers of Krip Love, Shouts of Krip Revolution this year in 2020. He currently is writing a novel tentatively entitled The Third Eye Is Crying. In 2019 he started a podcast entitled Black Disabled Men Talk with co-hosts Leroy Moore, Keith Jones, and Ottis Smith. SourceThis episode includes a reading by Mason Granger of McLeod's poem, “I Am Too Pretty For Some Ugly Laws”  featured in our 2021 and 2023 Get Lit Anthology.“I Am Too Pretty For Some Ugly Laws”I am not suppose to be herein this body,herespeaking to you.My mere presenceof erratic moving limbsand drooling smileused to be scrubbedoff the public pavement.Ugly laws used to beon many U.S. cities’ law books,beginning in Chicago in 1867,stating that “any person who isdiseased, maimed, mutilated,or in any way deformedso as to be an unsightly or disgusting object,or an improper person to be allowedin or on the streets, highways, thoroughfares,or public places in this city,shall not therein or thereonexpose himself to public view,under the penalty of $1 for each offense.”Any person who looked like mewas deemed disgustingand was locked awayfrom the eyes of the upstanding citizens.I am too pretty for some Ugly Laws,Too smooth to be shut in.Too smart and eclecticfor any box you put me in.My swagger is too boldto be swept up in these public streets.You can stare at me all you want.No cop will buss in my headand carry me away to an institution.No doctor will diagnose mea helpless invalid with an incurable disease.No angry mob with clubs and torcheswill try to run me out of town.Whatever you do,my roots are rigidlike a hundred-year-old tree.I will stay right hereto glare at your ugly face too.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, W.E.B. Du Bois. William Edward Burghardt Du Bois was an American sociologist, civil rights activist, and historian. Throughout his career, Du Bois was a founder and editor of many groundbreaking civil rights organizations and literary publications, such as The Niagara Movement and its Moon Illustrated Weekly and The Horizon periodicals, as well as the hugely influential National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and its monthly magazine The Crisis. An adamant socialist and peace activist, his writing for these journals was pointedly anti-capitalist, anti-war, and pro-women’s suffrage, on top of his core pursuit of the dismantling of systemic racism and discrimination. Possessing a large and hugely influential body of work, Du Bois is perhaps most notably the writer of the authoritative essay collection The Souls of Black Folks (1903) and his monumental work Black Reconstruction in America 1860–1880 (1935). Du Bois never stopped fighting for and evolving his beliefs, joining the Community Party at the age of 93. This episode includes a reading by Austin Antoine of Du Bois' poem, “The Song of Smoke”  featured in our 2023 Get Lit Anthology.“The Song of Smoke”I am the Smoke KingI am black!I am swinging in the sky,I am wringing worlds awry;I am the thought of the throbbing mills,I am the soul of the soul-toil kills,Wraith of the ripple of trading rills;Up I’m curling from the sod,I am whirling home to God;I am the Smoke KingI am black. I am the Smoke King,I am black!I am wreathing broken hearts,I am sheathing love’s light darts;Inspiration of iron timesWedding the toil of toiling climes,Shedding the blood of bloodless crimes—Lurid lowering ’mid the blue,Torrid towering toward the true,I am the Smoke King,I am black. I am the Smoke King,I am black!I am darkening with song,I am hearkening to wrong!I will be black as blackness can—The blacker the mantle, the mightier the man!For blackness was ancient ere whiteness began.I am daubing God in night,I am swabbing Hell in white:I am the Smoke KingI am black. I am the Smoke KingI am black!I am cursing ruddy morn,I am hearsing hearts unborn:Souls unto me are as stars in a night,I whiten my black men—I blacken my white!What’s the hue of a hide to a man in his might?Hail! great, gritty, grimy hands—Sweet Christ, pity toiling lands!I am the Smoke KingI am black.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, Page Lewis. Their poetry collections include Logically, I Know the Circus (2021), When I Tell My Husband I Miss the Sun, He Knows (2019), and You Can Take Off Your Sweater, I’ve Made Today Warm (2018). Support the showSupport the show

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In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of international touring Chicana poet and teaching artist, Angélica María Aguilera. She comes from a mixed family of immigrants and uses spoken word to rewrite the narrative of what it means to be Mexican, woman, and American. Her work has appeared in publications such as Button Poetry, the Breakbeat Poets Anthology LatiNext among others. Aguilera is the author of "Dolorosa" on Pizza Pie Press and "America As She." SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, “A Star Spanglish Banner”  featured in our 2022/23 Get Lit Anthology."A Star Spanglish Banner"Oh say can you seeMiguel wants to learn the Star-Spangled Banner.Miguel was the last fourth grader to migrate into my English as a second language course,and is the first to raise his hand for every question.But Miguel views letters in a different way than most.Because there are a lot of words in Spanishthat do not exist in English,he learns how to pack them in a suitcase and forget.Because many phrases translate backwardswhen crossing over from Spanish to English,throughout the whole song, he tends to say things in the wrong order.So when I ask him to sing the second verse,it sounds likeAnd the rocket's red glareWe watched our homeBursting in airIt gave proof to the nightthat the flag was still theirsThey say music is deeply intertwined with how we remember.Miguel hears the marimba and learns the word home,hears his mother's accent being mocked and learns the words shame,hears his mother's weeping and learns the word sacrifice.He asks, what does the word America mean?What does the word dream mean?I say two words with the same meaning are what we call synonyms.You could say America is a dream,something we all feel silly for believing in.He says, teach me.Teach me how to say bandera.Teach me how to say star.Teach me how to hide my country behind the consonantsthat do not get pronounced.Miss Angelica,teach the letters to just flee from my lips like my parents,and build a word out of nothing.In my tongue, we do not pronounce the letter H.Home is not a sound my voice knows how to make.It's strange what our memories hold on to.It's strange what makes it over the borderto the left side of the brain,what our minds do not let us forget,how an accent is just a mother tonguethat refuses to let her child go. The language barrier is a 74 mile walllodged in the back of Miguel's throat,the bodies of words so easily lost in the translation.Oh, say for whom does that star-spangled banner yet waveGive back the land to the braveand let us make a home for us free.Support the showSupport the show

In this episode of Get Lit Minute, we spotlight the accomplished author, poet and educator, José Olivarez.José Olivarez is the son of Mexican immigrants. His debut book of poems, Citizen Illegal, was a finalist for the PEN/ Jean Stein Award and a winner of the 2018 Chicago Review of Books Poetry Prize. It was named a top book of 2018 by The Adroit Journal, NPR, and the New York Public Library. Along with Felicia Chavez and Willie Perdomo, he co-edited the poetry anthology, The BreakBeat Poets Vol. 4: LatiNEXT. He is the co-host of the poetry podcast, The Poetry Gods. In 2018, he was awarded the first annual Author and Artist in Justice Award from the Phillips Brooks House Association and named a Debut Poet of 2018 by Poets & Writers. In 2019, he was awarded a Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation. His work has been featured in The New York Times, The Paris Review, and elsewhere. SourceSupport the showSupport the show

In this episode of Get Lit Minute, we spotlight the accomplished writer and poet, Rigoberto González. Rigoberto González was born in Bakersfield, California and raised in Michoacán, Mexico. He earned a BA from the University of California, Riverside and graduate degrees from University of California, Davis and Arizona State University. He is the author of several poetry books, including The Book of Ruin (2019); Unpeopled Eden (2013), winner of a Lambda Literary Award; and So Often the Pitcher Goes to Water until It Breaks (1999), a National Poetry Series selection. He has also written two bilingual children’s books, Antonio’s Card (2005) and Soledad Sigh-Sighs (2003); the novel Crossing Vines (2003), winner of ForeWord Magazine’s Fiction Book of the Year Award; a memoir, Butterfly Boy: Memories of a Chicano Mariposa (2006), which received the American Book Award from the Before Columbus Foundation; and the book of stories Men without Bliss (2008). He has also written for The National Book Critics Circle's blog, Critical Mass; and the Poetry Foundation's blog Harriet. The recipient of Guggenheim and NEA fellowships, the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize, The Bill Whitehead Award for Lifetime Achievement from the Publishing Triangle, and the PEN/Voelcker Award, González writes a Latino book column for the El Paso Times of Texas. He is contributing editor for Poets & Writers, on the Board of Directors of the National Book Critics Circle, and on the Advisory Circle of Con Tinta, a collective of Chicano/Latino activist writers.  González is a professor of English and director of the MFA Program in creative writing at Rutgers University–Newark. He lives in New York City. SourceThis episode includes a reading of his poem, “Birthright”  featured in our 2022/23 Get Lit Anthology."Birthright"in the villageof your birthcuts a wallbleeds a border in the heatyou cannot swimin the rainyou cannot climb in the northyou cannot becuts a papercuts a law cuts a fingerfinger bleedsbaby hungersbaby feeds baby needsyou cannot goyou cannot buyyou cannot bring baby growsbaby knowsbordercrossingseasons bring winter bordersummer borderfalls a borderborder springSupport the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, Li-Young Lee. He is the author of The Undressing (W. W. Norton, 2018); Behind My Eyes (W. W. Norton, 2008); Book of My Nights (BOA Editions, 2001), which won the 2002 William Carlos Williams Award; The City in Which I Love You (BOA Editions, 1990); and Rose (BOA Editions, 1986).  SourceThis episode includes a reading of his poem, “A Story”  featured in our 2023 Get Lit Anthology."A Story"Sad is the man who is asked for a storyand can't come up with one. His five-year-old son waits in his lap.Not the same story, Baba. A new one.The man rubs his chin, scratches his ear. In a room full of books in a worldof stories, he can recallnot one, and soon, he thinks, the boywill give up on his father. Already the man lives far ahead, he seesthe day this boy will go. Don't go!Hear the alligator story! The angel story once more!You love the spider story. You laugh at the spider.Let me tell it! But the boy is packing his shirts,he is looking for his keys. Are you a god,the man screams, that I sit mute before you?Am I a god that I should never disappoint? But the boy is here. Please, Baba, a story?It is an emotional rather than logical equation,an earthly rather than heavenly one,which posits that a boy's supplicationsand a father's love add up to silence.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, Alma Flor Ada. She has devoted her life to advocacy for peace by promoting a pedagogy oriented to personal realization and social jus­tice. Alma Flor’s numerous children’s books of poetry, narrative, folklore, and non-fiction have received prestigious awards. Her professional books for educators, include: A Magical Encounter: Latino Children’s Lit­erature in the Classroom and, co-authored with F. Isabel Campoy: Authors in the Classroom: A Transformative Education Process, Initial Spanish Literacy: Strategies for Young Learners and Está linda la mar: Para comprender y usar la poesía en la clase. SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, “Bilingual”  featured in our 2022-23 Get Lit Anthology.“Bilingual”Because I speak Spanish  I can listen to my grandmother’s stories and say familia, madre, amor. Because I speak English I can learn from my teacher  and say I love school.  Because I am bilingual I can read libros and books, I have amigos and friends, I enjoy canciones and songs, juegos and games, and have twice as much fun.  And someday, because I speak two languages, I will be able to do twice as much, to help twice as many people and be twice as good in what I do.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, Agha Shahid Ali. His poetry collections include Call Me Ishmael Tonight: A Book of Ghazals (W. W. Norton, 2003), Rooms Are Never Finished (2001), and Bone Sculpture (1972). He is also the author of T. S. Eliot as Editor (1986), translator of The Rebel's Silhouette: Selected Poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1992), and editor of Ravishing Disunities: Real Ghazals in English (2000).  SourceThis episode includes a reading of his poem, “Stationery”  featured in our 2022-23 Get Lit Anthology.“Stationery”The moon did not become the sun.It just fell on the desertin great sheets, reamsof silver handmade by you.The night is your cottage industry now,the day is your brisk emporium.The world is full of paper.Write to me.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, Marty McConnell. Her second poetry collection, "when they say you can't go home again, what they mean is you were never there," won the 2017 Michael Waters Poetry Prize and is forthcoming in 2018 on Southern Indiana University Press. Her first nonfiction book, “Gathering Voices: Creating a Community-Based Poetry Workshop,” was recently published by YesYes Books. She is the co-creator and co-editor of underbelly, a web site focused on the art and magic of poetry revision. She is also the author of wine for a shotgun, (EM Press). In 2009, she launched Vox Ferus, an organization dedicated to empowering and energizing individuals and communities through the written and spoken word. SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, “Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell”  featured in our Get Lit Anthology.“Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell”leaving is not enough; you muststay gone. train your heartlike a dog. change the lockseven on the house he’s nevervisited. you lucky, lucky girl.you have an apartmentjust your size. a bathtubfull of tea. a heart the sizeof Arizona, but not nearlyso arid. don’t wish awayyour cracked past, yourcrooked toes, your problemsare papier mache puppetsyou made or bought because the vendorat the market was so compelling you justhad to have them. you had to have him.and you did. and now you pull downthe bridge between your houses,you make him call beforehe visits, you take a loverfor granted, you takea lover who looks at youlike maybe you are magic. makethe first bottle you consumein this place a relic. place iton whatever altar you fashionwith a knife and five cranberries.don’t lose too much weight.stupid girls are always tryingto disappear as revenge. and youare not stupid. you loved a manwith more hands than a paradeof beggars, and here you stand. heartlike a four poster bed. heart like a canvas.heart leaking something so strongthey can smell it in the street.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, Naomi Shihab Nye. She is the author of numerous books of poems, most recently Cast Away: Poems for Our Time (Greenwillow Books, 2020). Her other books of poetry include The Tiny Journalist (BOA Editions, 2019); You and Yours (BOA Editions, 2005); and 19 Varieties of Gazelle: Poems of the Middle East (Greenwillow Books, 2002), a collection of new and selected poems about the Middle East. She is also the author of several books of poetry and fiction for children, including Habibi (Simon Pulse, 1997). SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, "How Do I Know When a Poem is Finished?"  featured in our 2022/23 Get Lit Anthology."How Do I Know When a Poem is Finished?"When you quietly closethe door to a roomthe room is not finished. It is resting. Temporarily.Glad to be without youfor a while. Now it has time to gatherits balls of gray dust,to pitch them from corner to corner. Now it seeps back into itself,unruffled and proud.Outlines grow firmer. When you return,you might move the stack of books,freshen the water for the roses. I think you could keep doing thisforever. But the blue chair looks bestwith the red pillow. So you might as well leave it that way.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of Asian American poet, Sally Wen Mao.  She is the author of the forthcoming poetry collection The Kingdom of Surfaces (Graywolf Press, 2023), and the debut fiction collection Ninetails (Penguin Books). She is also the author of two previous poetry collections, Oculus (Graywolf Press, 2019), and Mad Honey Symposium  (Alice James Books, 2014). SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, "The Belladonna of Sadness."  check out more poems by her featured in our Get Lit Anthology."The Belladonna of Sadness"Spring in Hell and everything’s blooming.I dreamt the worst was over but it wasn’t.Suppose my punishment was fields of lilies sharper than razors, cutting up fields of lies.Suppose my punishment was purity, mined and blanched.They shunned me only because I knew I was stunning.Then the white plague came, and their pleas were like a river.Summer was orgiastic healing, snails snaking around wrists.In heat, garbage festooned the sidewalks.Old men leered at bodies they couldn’t touchuntil they did. I shouldn’t have laughed but I laughedat their flesh dozing into their spines, their bones crunching like snow.Once I was swollen and snowblind with grief, left for deadat the castle door. Then I robbed the castle and kissed my captor,my sadness, learned she was not a villain. To wake up in this verdant field,to watch the lilies flay the lambs. To enter paradise,a woman drinks a vial of amnesia. Found in only the palestflowers, the ones that smell like rotten meat. To summon the stinkyflower and access its truest aroma, you have to let its stigma show.You have to let the pollen sting your eyes until you close them.Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of Guatelombian (Guatemalan-Colombian) American poet and screenwriter, Melissa Lozada-Oliva. Her book peluda (Button Poetry 2017) explores the intersections of Latina identity, feminism, hair removal & what it means to belong. Her novel-in-verse Dreaming of You is about bringing Selena back to life through a seance & the disastrous consequences that follow & it’s coming out October 2021 on Astra House. She is the co-host of podcast Say More with Olivia Gatwood where they dissect the world through a poetic lens. Lozada-Olivia is currently working on a pilot about a haunted book store. She is interested in horror because she’s scared of everything. Lozada-Olivia likes when things are little funny so that she has space to be a little sad. Her work has been featured or is forthcoming in REMEZCLA, PAPER, The Guardian, BreakBeat Poets, Kenyon Review, Vulture, Bustle, Glamour Magazine, The Huffington Post, Muzzle Magazine, The Adroit Journal, and BBC Mundo! SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, "The Women in My Family Are Bitches,"  featured in our Get Lit Anthology."The Women in My Family Are Bitches" cranky! bitchesstuck up! bitchescustomer service turned sour! bitches.can i help you? bitchesnext in line! bitchesi like this purse 'cause it makes me look mean bitchescan you take a picture of my outfit? full length!get the shoes in! bitchesi always wear heels to la fiesta! and i never take them off! bitchesall men will kill you! bitchesall men will leave you anyway! bitchesyou better text me when you get home okay! bitchespray before the plane takes off! bitchespray before the baby comes! bitchesshe has my eyes my big mouth, my fight! bitchessing to the scabs on her knees when she falls down! bitchesgive abuelita bendiciones! bitchesit's okay not to be liked! bitcheson our own til infinity! bitchesthe vengeful violentpissed prissed and polishedlipstick stained on an envelope,i'll be damned if i'm compliant! bitchesthe what did you call us? what did you say to us? what's that kind of love called again?bitches!Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, Danusha Laméris. She is the author of The Moons of August (Autumn House Press, 2014), selected by Naomi Shihab Nye as the winner of the 2013 Autumn House Press Poetry Prize. SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, "Small Kindnesses,"  featured in our 2022/23 Get Lit Anthology."Small Kindnesses"I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walkdown a crowded aisle, people pull in their legsto let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”when someone sneezes, a leftoverfrom the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.And sometimes, when you spill lemonsfrom your grocery bag, someone else will help youpick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smileat them and for them to smile back. For the waitressto call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.We have so little of each other, now. So farfrom tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, thesefleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,have my seat," "Go ahead — you first," "I like your hat."Support the showSupport the show

In this week's episode of the Get Lit Minute, your weekly poetry podcast, we spotlight the life and work of poet, Camonghe Felix. She is the author of Build Yourself a Boat (Haymarket Books, 2019), which was longlisted for the 2019 National Book Award in Poetry. The 2013 winner of the Cora Craig Award for Young Women, Felix has received fellowships from Cave Canem, Callaloo, and Poets House. SourceThis episode includes a reading of her poem, "Thank God I Can't Drive,"  featured in our 2021/23 Get Lit Anthology."Thank God I Can't Drive"My brain is trying so hard to outrun this. It is doing more work than the lie.I could go to jail for anything. I look like that kind of girl. I only speak one language. I amof prestige but can’t really prove it. Not if my hands are tied. Not if my smartphone isseized. Not if you can’t google me. Without an archive of human bragging rights, I’m[   ] nobody, an empty bag, two-toned luggage. I’m not trying to be sanctimonious,I just found out that I’m afraid to die, like, there goes years of posturing about, beating itlike I own it, taking it to the bathroom with the tampons—like, look at me, I am so agentand with all this agency I can just deploy death at any time. The truth isthat I’m already on the clock, I’m just a few notches down on the “black-girl-with-badmouth” list, the street lights go out and I’m just at the mercy of my own bravery andtheir punts of powerlessness, their “who the hell do you think you are’s?”Support the showSupport the show