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Paul Tran

The Santa Ana

By Paul Tran Desert born. Wild
As corn. Dry
Bitch. Itchy clit.
Meteorologists
Danielle Badra

We are not reconciled to the oppressors who whet their howl on our grief.

By Danielle Badra We are not born to be barons of wealth. We
are soft spoken wordsmiths, not soldiers. We are
not broken by hardship or hate. We are not
Imani Davis

color theory

By Imani Davis a political statement walks into an art classroom. it could be the walls, or her bones, either way
some white structure will soon betray her with its crumbling.
Christopher Soto

THE AESTHETICS OF SUFFERING

By Christopher Soto I’m his // retired slut // on food stamps // forever
Sniffing horse tranquilizer // seeing digital dreams
Like a kitten // with eyes sewn shut // like syzygy
Wo Chan

my mother watches her mother’s funeral footage again

By Wo Chan She closed the doors
and then the blinds
and then her face, midday.
Danez Smith

Our Movable Mecca

By Danez Smith we who were born into conundrum, came into the world as the world was leaving, children
of the ozone, the oppressed, the overlooked, of obtuse greed, of oil overlords, of oblong
definitions of justice
Dawn Lundy Martin

Mo[dern Frame]

By Dawn Lundy Martin
Regie Cabico

Daylight Savings Time Flies

By Regie Cabico
Jan Beatty

The Kindness

By Jan Beatty
Taylor Johnson

Pennsylvania ave SE

By Taylor Johnson Bless the boys riding their bikes straight up, at midnight, touching,
if only briefly, holding, hands as they cross the light to Independence.
Bless them for from the side the one on the red bike looks like me
his redbrown hair loose against the late summer static heat.
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