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By Jeanann Verlee
In a humble, godless house
you moved through youth like any girl.
Dolls & other toys, yours,
By Ellen Bass
Today is gray, drizzling,
but not enough for drops to pool
on the tips of the silver needles
or soak the bark of the pines at Ponary—
By Jeneva Stone
close to the Nevada border salt
flats dry beds octagonal or hexed
one constant the wind another
dryness the two wicked all away
By Sarah Browning
After the great snow of 2016, my car sits
locked in icy drifts a week, green fossil
of the oil age preserved in graying amber.
By Caits Meissner
of course there were gaps I kept my eyes
shuddered up my curiosities strapped
amnesia on as a mask but only the dead do not dream.
By Claire Hermann
God separated the light from the darkness,
but I have a light switch.
Once there was morning and evening,
but now someone has torn the heart out of a mountain,
By Zahara Heckscher
This is a love song
to the invisible waves
that travel through the air
finding the antenna
By Joshua Jennifer Espinoza
Like light but
in reverse we billow.
We turn a corner
and make the hills
By Kim Roberts
Hundreds of tiny fry
crowd the single tank,
churning the water milky.
The fry grow to parr
By Nesha Ruther
L’chaim to my rabbi who gets red in the face during prayer
and sings off-tune
we can always hear him.