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By Hari Alluri
the tea in her glass. It glows the brocade.
Her grandmother picked that tea
on a mountain—a mountain in a war
whose shores were her bed. Steeping, the petals
By Kazumi Chin
The very last mammoth was just like the others,
except more lonely. The very last tortilla chip
makes me feel guilty.The very last line
of the poem changes everything about
By Fatimah Asghar
The names of my family members swirl
like dust in my lungs. I try to write about birds
& only pull from my pen animal skin.
My bones alive & a lament of dignified grief
By Paul Tran
TO SAY IT PLAIN. He comes inside
without a sound. I shut the door
I should have never opened. My body
flips over on the bed like a coin
By Kenji Liu
Ask me again why I am here
with this pine, this wild oyamel,
their great succulence of reason
You, machine lyric
and State, every state,
By Oliver de la Paz
The way is written in the dark:
it has steel in it, something metallic, a gun,
a mallet, a piece of machinery--
something cold like the sea, something,
By Craig Santos Perez
By Joseph O. Legaspi
Amphibians live in both.
Immigrants leave their land,
hardening in the sea.
Out of water.