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José B. González my mouth agape for these english words made of stone
their sharpness could split my tongue, but one by one
i’ll use them to build a wall, one by one
Ellen Kombiyil We are on the plane now
crossing ocean. The pressurized
air is sweet not stale never
stale, the cabin set for
Vincent Toro Like a charm of goldfinches we will gather. We will gather at the sea
crest and inside toppled cubicles, drawing upon this horizon of shady
treaties and chemical weapons depots as if cajoled toward the coast
Martha Collins Martha Collins performs the poem "On the Other Side" at the 2016 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Luis Alberto Ambroggio Poetry might never have seen
that categorical word,
but in its charged belligerence
of emotions and in its profound determination,
Holly Karapetkova There never was a garden
only a leaving:
miles and miles
of footprints in the dirt.
Heather Derr-Smith The fish are opened up like salad bowls,
Slid between the metal bars of baskets,
Roasted in the wood-fired ovens, Iraqi style.
The flesh glows as if it were made of glass.
Jee Leong Koh My grandfather said life was better under the British.
He was a man who begrudged his words but he did say this.
I was born after the British left
an alphabet in my house, the same book they left in school.