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Leona Sevick

White

By Leona Sevick Instead, I spotted our mother in a tiny
chair in the back row, her blue-black head
shining unnaturally. She was dressed in

Latin Freestyle

By David-Matthew Barnes I remember the rhythm at night:

Your hips wanting mine,
to grind our street-smart
Susan Scheid

When We Ruled the World

By Susan Scheid There we stood, dressed like Egyptians
or what we thought Egyptians should look like
from all our National Geographic magazines.
Truth Thomas

Sunday Kind of Love

By Truth Thomas Shayna reads the Word and takes
the story of that first miracle as
serious as unpaid electric bills in
winter
Emily K. Bright

Community

By Emily K. Bright It is nearly midnight and I'm
scrubbing at the grout.
The dishes, washed,
Margaret Rozga

Prayer at Plymouth Church

By Margaret Rozga Let there be drums and harps,
piccolos and flutes, violins,
banjos and guitars.
Meg Eden

factory work: made in china.

By Meg Eden I look for a man's hand inside
the folds of my purse, and find
a pattern that recalls a finger print, the way
Camille T. Dungy

Arthritis is one thing, the hurting another

By Camille T. Dungy The poet's hands degenerate until her cup is too heavy.
You are not required to understand.
This is not the year for understanding.
Marilyn Nelson

Making History

By Marilyn Nelson Somebody took a picture of a class
standing in line to get polio shots,
and published it in the Weekly Reader.
Antoinette Brim

Let Daylight Come (Little Rock, circa 2008)

By Antoinette Brim Let the moon untangle itself
from the clothesline, as coming daylight
diminishes its lamp to memory.
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