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Gretchen Primack

The Dogs and I Walked Our Woods,

By Gretchen Primack and there was a dog, precisely the colors of autumn,
asleep between two trunks by the trail.
But it was a coyote, paws pink
Venus Thrash

Abortion in the Garden of Eden

By Venus Thrash Deep in the heart of the Garden of Eden,
past the Euphrates & Tigris riverbanks,
the marsh grass, reed beds, bulrushes,
Joy Harjo

Anchorage

By Joy Harjo This city is made of stone, of blood, and fish.
There are Chugatch Mountains to the east
and whale and seal to the west.
Brenda Cárdenas

Nexus

By Brenda Cárdenas This body always compost--
hair a plot of thin green stems
snowing a shroud of petals,
Carlos Parada Ayala

Vaivén de fantasías / Marooned

By Carlos Parada Ayala Los argonautas se albergaron
en la oscuridad de mis zapatos
y un dragón azul acudió
Gretchen Primack

The Absence of Unnecessary Hurting

By Gretchen Primack This is the press of the earth. One star hanging
there, honking like a goose. The lake
a smudge of black juice, the hill a draped
Michelle Regalado Deatrick

For My Daughter

By Michelle Regalado Deatrick When I sweat in a Midwest January
and wish to God it was a hot flash but know
it's greenhouse gasses--read the news:
Dan Vera

The Borders Are Fluid Within Us

By Dan Vera This is what is feared:
that flags do not nourish the blood,
that history is not glorious or truthful.
Jacob Rakovan

Hilt’s Law

By Jacob Rakovan The bones cast in the field like seed corn grow nothing,
grow briars in the boarded gas stations
brown stalks ready for the fire.
Samiya Bashir

Manistee Lights

By Samiya Bashir Brother I don't either understand this
skipscrapple world that is--these
slick bubble cars zip feverish down
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