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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,
Linda Hogan

Song for the Turtles in the Gulf

By Linda Hogan We had been together so very long,
you willing to swim with me
just last month, myself merely small
T. J. Jarrett

Of Late, I Have Been Thinking About Despair

By T. J. Jarrett its ruthless syntax, and the ease with which it interjects
itself into our days. I thought how best to explain this—

this dark winter, but that wasn’t it, or beds unshared
but that isn’t exactly it either, until I remembered
Hermine Pinson

Test for Cognitive Function

By Hermine Pinson Mother

Slipper

July

“ I will ask you to recall these words

at the end of our session”
Danez Smith

not an elegy for Mike Brown

By Danez Smith I am sick of writing this poem

but bring the boy. his new name

his same old body. ordinary, black

dead thing. bring him & we will mourn
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