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Aricka Foreman

Dream Coated with Fluoxetine

By Aricka Foreman When the hollow grows thick, she prescribes
20 mg to take every morning for four to five days,
then increase as tolerated. Take it with fish oil and
a book of artificial light, try not to repeat the question.
Susan Eisenberg

As I Pay Forty Dollars

By Susan Eisenberg for my asthma inhaler that
last year cost fifteen
I pause for the mom
Tara Betts

F.U.B.U.

By Tara Betts I am sitting in a café with my boy
that I have known longer than my
students have been alive, before the birth
Keith Wilson

Black Matters

By Keith Wilson shall i tell you, then, that we exist?
there came a light, blue and white careening,
the police like wailing angels
to bitter me.
Keno Evol

on meeting a brother for the first time

By Keno Evol the night i was to meet my brother for the first time in 23 years he ain’t show / absence is not what comes up from that memory / more it was the dusk in September / how fog can hide a growl
Danez Smith

Our Movable Mecca

By Danez Smith we who were born into conundrum, came into the world as the world was leaving, children
of the ozone, the oppressed, the overlooked, of obtuse greed, of oil overlords, of oblong
definitions of justice
Dunya Mikhail

Ama-ar-gi*

By Dunya Mikhail Our clay tablets are cracked
Scattered, like us, are the Sumerian letters
“Freedom” is inscribed this way:
Ama-ar-gi
Ross Gay

Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude

By Ross Gay This poem is in video format.
Allison Pitinii Davis

THE MOTEL CLERK’S SON DRIVES OUT TO CHECK ON BUSINESS, 1977

By Allison Pitinii Davis Before him, stickers fade across the bumper:
LAST ONE OUT OF TOWN, TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.
The last employer in Youngstown is the weather:
the truck behind him plows grey snow to the roadside
Jennifer Maritza McCauley

Old Blood

By Jennifer Maritza McCauley Before they tell us how to look
at our kilt brothers' bodies:

Tell them we already know how to see ‘em.
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