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Chris August

Oil: A Love Poem

By Chris August America, don’t we love like oil?
Don’t our slippery arms
Pave the pores of those who need us?
Camille T. Dungy

Daisy Cutter

By Camille T. Dungy Pause here at the flower stand-mums
and gladiolas, purple carnations
dark as my heart.
Jody Bolz

Mutanabbi Street

By Jody Bolz Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.
Jericho Brown

Prayer of the Backhanded

By Jericho Brown Not the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God
Lori Desrosiers

That Pomegranate Shine

By Lori Desrosiers I was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.
Randall Horton

Note from a Prodigal Son III

By Randall Horton The gavel
The splintered body
The red-neck guards
Philip Metres

For the Fifty (Who Formed PEACE With Their Bodies)

By Philip Metres In the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis
Remica L. Bingham

Final Exam Administration

By Remica L. Bingham I enter to find all the students in uniform
occupying a small room.
Dan Vera

Judicial Temperament

By Dan Vera Thurgood whispers in Sonia's ears
You know they said the same things about me?
Master two languages, graduate at the top
Martha Collins

lynch

By Martha Collins not as in pin, the kind that keeps the wheels
turning, and not the strip of land that marks
the border between two fields. unrelated
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