Issue #15 Featured Poem

We mistakenly published this poem under a different title in our print edition. The poem is published here under the correct title. We apologize to the poet and our readers for this error.

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American Prelude

There is a great wind blowing over the empty
fields as we watch the sun begin
its climb. On this small, geometric parcel
of land, we carry ourselves away from
each history. Beyond the fences we see
all the towns that we have taken from, homes
we’ve had stolen from us, old lands
passed down, rich soils that carry the foods
we eat. In prison, there is always a room
than is needed. Here we watch holiday reruns,
watch

a white man named John
fight for land which was once
fought over and will always be
fought over because

the white man named John
shakes bloodied hands in agreement
to rules, then bends or breaks
rules, leaving blood on the leaves
and everything else

the white man named John
seeks to own. We sit
in cells as the daughter of

the white man named John
screams that interlopers are invading
and they seek to own that which

the white man named John
believes he owns—was his destiny
to own. The daughter of

the white man named John
brings her father to war and, here,
we begin to numb ourselves to the words
of any god that would try,

and try, and try, to cage us.

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JUSTIN ROVILLOS MONSON is a Filipino-American poet and essayist currently serving a sentence in the Michigan Department of Corrections, from which he hopes to be released in 2027. He is the author of AMERICAN INMATE (Haymarket Books, 2025), winner of the Midwest Book Award for Debut Poetry Collection.