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By Everett Hoagland
Architect of icebergs, snowflakes,
crystals, rainbows, sand grains, dust motes, atoms.
Mason whose tools are glaciers, rain, rivers, ocean.
Chemist who made blood
By Deborah A. Miranda
Wife and dogs have gone to bed.
I sit here with the front door open.
Crickets sing patiently, a long lullaby
in lazy harmony. Rain falls
By Kim Marshall
We rush toward change, ask:
do you love me?
By Terisa Siagatonu
The evening news helicopters compete for the best camera angle
above the water, fighting to find anything worthy of coverage.
A floating high chief. A baby’s arm flattened by a coconut tree. Anything.
Even the Titanic was enormous enough to leave remnants of itself
By Sherwin Bitsui
Father's dying ceased
when he refunded this ours
for fused hands plaster-coated
By Paul Tran
Desert born. Wild
As corn. Dry
Bitch. Itchy clit.
By John James
In Georgetown, IN, the steel projector reels.
The desert stretches blankly before us, a red
plain constellated with rows of dry mesquite.
By Dan Vera
A is for apple.
B is for banana – treasure fruit of the tropics
which replaced the apple on the breakfast table of Victorian America.
C is for Carmen Miranda smiling
By Sonia Sanchez
There are women sailing the sky
I walk between them
They who wear silk, muslin and burlap skins touching mine
They who dance between urine and violets
By Jeneva Stone
close to the Nevada border salt
flats dry beds octagonal or hexed
one constant the wind another
dryness the two wicked all away