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By Susanna Lang
She had planned to offer peaches with the tea.
August was warm; the fruit had ripened to perfection.
She’d placed two paring knives on the cutting board,
set out the teapot with nasturtiums painted on the side.
By Kim Roberts
Oysters may look to us
like wet floppy tongues,
but there’s no licking.
There’s no touching.
By Lourdes Galván
Utica is a pretty and quiet country
When I was at the bus station
my son would say to me, 'mom, I am hungry'
and a man who was sweeping came up to me
By Sam Taylor
And someone in a field found an old car
from the year black with beetles, eaten like lace,
and the sky fell into it, a private thing.
And everyone had a kitchen or a fold-out bed
By Chen Chen
My friend’s new neighbors in the suburbs
are planting a neat row of roses
between her house & theirs.
By Ross Gay
Tumbling through the
city in my
mind without once
By Lauren K. Alleyne
As a child, I'd refuse to eat my veggies,
pushing them round and round my plate
until my mother's glare unclamped my jaw
By Jericho Brown
They said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid