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Fred Joiner a pocket can sometimes be
a kind of prison,
I have never lived in
Esther Lin After learning his appointment was canceled
and his senior bus won’t come for another two
hours my father calls from his waiting room
Lauren Camp The soup cooks for an hour while vultures and buzzards pluck the market.
My father wipes his forehead with a white cloth.
Once, each day began with khubz and samoon
Wo Chan She closed the doors
and then the blinds
and then her face, midday.
José B. González my mouth agape for these english words made of stone
their sharpness could split my tongue, but one by one
i’ll use them to build a wall, one by one
Purvi Shah Under sky massaged by sun, from a comfortable chair, I watch
the rain stroke a myrtle tree. Naked
rain, my father says. Naked,
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 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
Julie Enszer to the place where the idea
of being a pinko commie dyke
first entered her mind,
Pat Parker (d.) I wish I could be
the lover you want