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Aurora Levins Morales

Patients

By Aurora Levins Morales Why do they call us "the patient"
We are not patient. We endure.
Liv Mammone

On the Subway for the First Time

By Liv Mammone The train is a creature that moves like water.
It has no eyes, only a sharp
mouth that closes on those too slow.
Michal ‘MJ’ Jones

THE MAGIC YOUR BODY BECOMES

By Michal 'MJ' Jones You are [found] in
cherry blossom trees / heron bird flight /rib-
bon of night / space between stairs / rose
Travis Chi Wing Lau

Pithy

By Travis Chi Wing Lau I shrug off my messenger onto the floor and forget to kiss you when I walk through the door.
Leigh Sugar

Bone Tumor

By Leigh Sugar I knew it was something bodies could do, disobey –
a girl a grade above had died that fall
of the cancer I was being tested for in winter,
Jessica (Tyner) Mehta

The Seeds for Distinction*

By Jessica (Tyner) Mehta Conductor drives us, the cow-
catcher barreling straight into the teeth
of Memory’s harshest winter.
Emily K. Michael

Blindness Locked Me Out

By Emily K. Michael The speed reading class for seventh graders
slumped over tight columns of text spread flat
on tables in the library where in her half-glasses
Juan J. Morales

Of Avocados

By Juan J. Morales Like two hands pressed
together, they are twice as large
on the island. One feeds
Janlori Goldman

Ode to Jacob Blinder

By Janlori Goldman His face stared out into the living room
of my grandparents’ walk-up on E. 13th.
After they died my father hung him
Laura Tohe

My Body Holds Stones

By Laura Tohe My body
holds
stones
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