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Rich Villar

Always Here

By Rich Villar lacking a proper entrance
into a poem
about Arizona Senate Bill 1070
Sami Miranda

we is

By Sami Miranda we is not the singular
dotted i, black figure against
a white background.
Joseph O. Legaspi

The Red Sweater

By Joseph O. Legaspi slides down into my body, soft
lambs wool, what everybody
in school is wearing, and for me
Judith Roche

Throw Aways

By Judith Roche They are only boys, though murderers and rapists.
Bad skin is an issue. Candy bars a treat.
Some are fathers. Few have fathers.
Patricia Spears Jones

Autumn, New York, 1999

By Patricia Spears Jones And I am full of worry I wrote to a friend
Worry, she replied about what—love, money, health?
All of them, I wrote back. It’s autumn, the air is clear
Naomi Ayala

In Adams Morgan, Two Years of Neighborhood-Wide Reconstruction Come to a Halt for the Night

By Naomi Ayala And now, where the moon
rose behind here,
three stories loom—
Alison Roh Park

Build You Up

By Alison Roh Park If it were not so scarred from your accidental
rages—uptown, upstate—I would have rested
on the cinder block of your chest.
Heather Davis

29 Men

By Heather Davis The lights in your home channel 29 men, their
soot stained clothes, last breaths, crystalline sweat
let loose on black rock
Gregory Pardlo

Antebellum

By Gregory Pardlo Unfinished, the road turns off the fill
from the gulf coast, tracing the bay, to follow
the inland waterway.
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?
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