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By Tara Shea Burke
When we met we fell for each other like leaves.
Behind black curtains your bedroom was always dark
except for unexpected soft-yellow walls. Your dogs
By Saeed Jones
All throat now already brighter than the stars.
I could hold you in my song. Sotto voce, tremble
against me: a breeze slips in, cools my blood
By Kevin McLellan
The blur of
By Elizabeth Hoover
Ñuul, the teacher says and smacks his knee to show
where the stress falls. Ñuul, the children repeat each
starting at a different time so they sing a sour chord.
By Leona Sevick
Instead, I spotted our mother in a tiny
chair in the back row, her blue-black head
shining unnaturally. She was dressed in
By Sonja de Vries
Some days it’s in the grip of a hawk flying
up from the field, snake dangling from its mouth
By Marie-Elizabeth Mali
Balancing on crutches in the shallows
near her mother, a girl missing her right lower leg
swings her body and falls, laughing.
By Simki Ghebremichael
Instead of Most Wanted
by the FBI, each week
they profile the life
of a dissident, a former
By David-Matthew Barnes
I remember the rhythm at night:
Your hips wanting mine,
to grind our street-smart
By Persis M. Karim
Take their limbs strewn about the streets—
multiply by a thousand and one.
Ask everyone in Baghdad who has lost