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Elmaz Abinader

Where the Body Rests

By Elmaz Abinader Our skin has turned to parchment
Our skin has turned to parchment
Our skin are the scrolls upon which
This history will be written
Venus Thrash

Gunpowder Lives

By Venus Thrash Ever since my next-door neighbor stopped
in front of the stoop, unfolded The Post
to her son's smiling face, I've been obsessed
with the Obits page.
Kenji Liu

So, that you are always sir, dear sir

By Kenji Liu Ask me again why I am here
with this pine, this wild oyamel,
their great succulence of reason

You, machine lyric
and State, every state,
Ross Gay

A Small Needful Fact

By Ross Gay Is that Eric Garner worked
for some time for the Parks and Rec.
Horticultural Department, which means,
perhaps, that with his very large hands,
Rosa Chávez

We, stones, were branded by hot iron

By Rosa Chávez Ri oj ab'aj xkoj qetal ruk'a k'atanalaj ch'ich'
Xk'at ri qab'aq'wach //
Las piedras fuimos marcadas con hierro candente
quemados nuestros ojos //
We, stones, were branded by hot iron
our eyes scorched
Lois Beardslee

Manitogiizans/December

By Lois Beardslee When I asked my mother
If she could remember
What her mother's mother called December
Roger Reeves

Self-Portrait as Vincent Van Gogh in the Asylum at Arles

By Roger Reeves The moths in the orchard squeal
with each pass of the mistral wind.
Yet the reapers and their scythes,
out beyond the pear trees, slay wheat
Joshua Bennett

Theodicy

By Joshua Bennett When yet another one of your kin falls,
you question God’s wingspan, the architecture
of mercy.
Rachel Eliza Griffiths

Elegy

By Rachel Eliza Griffiths I remember the boys & their open hands. High fives
of farewell. I remember that the birches waved too,
the white jagged limbs turning away from incessant wildfires
Kelli Stevens Kane

bitter crop

By Kelli Stevens Kane blueberry blackberry as always
bleeding, back road or boulevard,
our boy crowned with baton,
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