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Cathy Lihn Che I see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.
DaMaris B. Hill I dream of hounds. Their teeth loose in my veins.
Their howls consume me. They growl and feast.
She whispers not to run. I can't refrain.
Zohra Saed Behave or the sleeping Alexander will reclaim your lungs.
Was once a cube of sugar
Carolee Bennett Sherwood They build boxes upon boxes, great honeycomb cities. Rumbling
trucks deliver parcels of pollen. Pretzel vendors leave good luck
trails of salt along the sidewalks. Busy taxi cab tongues lick up
Renée Ellen Olander Yesterday, a ten-year old newcomer to a zoo
Fought her new mate, broke
Out of her cage, and galumphed
Sheila Black The brace was metal, and it fastened around the ankles.
Outside in the street there was the beggar with elephantiasis; there was
the leper, the neighbor with eyes milky blind,
Ellen Hagan the ones who brought your father here, come. Bring
with them whole almonds, dried berries & clementines
wrapped in cloth. Their clothes & smart shoes too.
Purvi Shah The mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
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 The poet's hands degenerate until her cup is too heavy.
You are not required to understand.
This is not the year for understanding.