Get to know these TSW voices.
In celebration of National Poetry Month, TSW is sharing 10 poems written by Seventh Wave poets that we published across our past 16 issues. In this supercharged roundup, you’ll encounter poems that challenge the expectations of empire, pieces that reveal the realities of diasporic living, and poems that question various systems of oppression.
In times like these, when it can feel hard to parse truth from sensationalism, poetry can cut to the core of our lived experiences. Our hope in sharing these poems is that they will act as entry points for you to get to know some incredibly urgent, necessary talents within our TSW community.
Below, you’ll find work by the incomparable Monique Ouk, Daad Sharfi, Rebekkah Leigh LaBlue, Brian Dang, Sanam Sheriff, Nicole Orocho Hernández, Sarah Ghazal Ali, Kaya Arnoux, Ramya Ramana, and Sadia Hassan. Read and return to these voices often.
- All Posts
- 1: Perception Gaps
- 10: Willful Innocence
- 11: Actionable Storytelling
- 12: Before After
- 13: Rebellious Joy
- 14: Economies of Harm
- 15: Root Systems
- 16: Proximities
- 17: The Cost of Waiting
- 2: Labels
- 3: Who Gets to Belong?
- 4: You Are Politics
- 5: Artificial Realities
- 6: Dangerous Bodies
- 7: In Opposition
- 8: Power And
- 9: What We Lose
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- Film
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- Poetry
- Prose
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Every poem I write opens with a parent. How else / do I bless the ones that birthed me?
in the beginning there were no lines no markers of where & what belong to whom / or why
For the sake of this poem as / a citable document, I'll name / just the one breath this time
You are younger than her labor for [redacted aircraft manufacturing company].
I am not. Two weeks or more since a call. To be in America, / You must see American, close your eyes and dream American
I / am ruined / how could I / ever leave / this wound
I came / I was culled
a mouth began / in the south east corner / of the continent where / a tribe of teeth / once shared rice
in 2029, i wake up next to a stranger. / the word husband for us is like paprika — / it adds color.
& so I hear / in the beginning I am not / 12 & I hear hips swinging a wide bridge / a chorus swelling in the bass / of my chest & I break
Throughout the year, you’ll continue to find pieces like this that celebrate our community of voices. If you’re looking for more poems that we’ve published over the past nine years, you can search our site via the “poetry” tag here.
