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By Antoinette Brim
Let the moon untangle itself
from the clothesline, as coming daylight
diminishes its lamp to memory.
By Jose Padua
All the out of business auto body shops
on this slow highway, all the abandoned
buildings with peeling paint, the vacant
By Kathleen O'Toole
He arrived first as a student of geology
in the bicentennial year.
By Judith Arcana
You read the tiny cardboard book before
you scratch the strip under Augie's New Pizza
on the back of MIA:We still don't know
By Penelope Scambly Schott
Back when I used to march
in the noon of the green world,
I sang like a crow.
By Claire Zoghb
He’s put the war out of his mind. Shelling and murdered relatives behind him.
By Nahshon Cook
Then he explained
how the Buddha
to reflect on the body
By Deema K. Shehabi
I could tell you that listening is made for the ashen sky,
and instead of the muezzin's voice, which lingers
like weeping at dawn,
By Lisa Suhair Majaj
If they ask you what you are,
say Arab. If they flinch, don't react,
just remember your great-aunt's eyes.
By Vanessa Huang
May you rest