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Sara Brickman Owosso, Michigan is cinder blocks
stacked on top of potato cellars and steamrolled
grey. There’s a lot of corn,
Demetrice Anntía Worley On this eve of the dead, I cry out loud,
“por favor Virgen de Guadalupe, don’t
forsake me,” before I open the door,
before I see la policía flat
Don Share July kindles the redneck in me.
I blaze down Interstates
that are viaducts for my beery nerves
Nicholas Samaras What is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
Kamilah Aisha Moon When you're gay in Dixie,
you're a clown of a desperate circus.
Sometimes the only way to be like daddy
David Tomas Martinez It's not water to wine to swallow harm,
though many of us have,
and changing the name
Joy Harjo This city is made of stone, of blood, and fish.
There are Chugatch Mountains to the east
and whale and seal to the west.
Sheila Black My daughter works in the Apple Store--the Help Center, open 24-7,
people from all fifty states, angry because their iPhones
malfunctioned or they don't know how to program their data
Jacob Rakovan The bones cast in the field like seed corn grow nothing,
grow briars in the boarded gas stations
brown stalks ready for the fire.
Jericho Brown They said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid