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By 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
By 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
By Wo Chan
She closed the doors
and then the blinds
and then her face, midday.
By 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
By 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,
By 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.
By Julie Enszer
to the place where the idea
of being a pinko commie dyke
first entered her mind,
By Kaveh Akbar
Some days we can see Venus in mid-afternoon. Then at night, stars
separated by billions of miles, light travelling years
to die in the back of an eye.
By Aracelis Girmay
You, selling roses out of a silver grocery cart
You, in the park, feeding the pigeons
You cheering for the bees
You with cats in your voice in the morning, feeding cats
By Dunya Mikhail
Our clay tablets are cracked
Scattered, like us, are the Sumerian letters
“Freedom” is inscribed this way: