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Zahara Heckscher

This is a Love Song

By Zahara Heckscher This is a love song
to the invisible waves
that travel through the air
finding the antenna
Kim Roberts

Hatchery

By Kim Roberts Hundreds of tiny fry
crowd the single tank,
churning the water milky.
The fry grow to parr
Nesha Ruther

L’Chaim

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.
Lauren Camp

Pause Hawk Cloud Enter

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
Julie Enszer

The Pinko Commie Dyke Returns

By Julie Enszer to the place where the idea
of being a pinko commie dyke
first entered her mind,
Sarah Sansolo

Aunty Mary and Her “Friend” Ruth, 1910

By Sarah Sansolo You wear the faded muslin—
did it begin yours or mine?
Everything we have is both.
Everything we are is both,
Allison Pitinii Davis

THE MOTEL CLERK’S SON DRIVES OUT TO CHECK ON BUSINESS, 1977

By Allison Pitinii Davis Before him, stickers fade across the bumper:
LAST ONE OUT OF TOWN, TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.
The last employer in Youngstown is the weather:
the truck behind him plows grey snow to the roadside
David Ebenbach

Looking for a Job

By David Ebenbach What you want, at least, is the dignity
of a Sisyphus—you want to see yourself
on a hilltop, your muscles and hands
afire and chest roaring for breath, and
Kim Roberts

The International Fruit of Welcome

By Kim Roberts
Myra Sklarew

Exchange

By Myra Sklarew
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