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By Beth Copeland
What do the howling hounds hear that we can't?
The moon sharpens its sword on the Earth's stone.
Palm trees on the shores of the Tigris stand sentinel,
By Gowri Koneswaran
we're taught to hold hands
when we cross the street
or walk with our mothers in parking lots or
By Yvette Neisser Moreno
Something tender about skin
and muscle framed by ancient stone.
The pyramids behind us in silhouette,
By Daniela Elza
I drink a blood sunset down Cardinal Avenue.
my shoes soaked poppies my mind quiet as
a book with a bomb in its mouth.
By Cathy Lihn Che
I see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.
By Zohra Saed
Behave or the sleeping Alexander will reclaim your lungs.
Was once a cube of sugar
By Lauryn Nesbitt
As long as you wake up everyday you should have
no reason to complain, right
i guess if i'm still breathing then i'm not really
By Renée Ellen Olander
Yesterday, a ten-year old newcomer to a zoo
Fought her new mate, broke
Out of her cage, and galumphed
By Ellen Hagan
the ones who brought your father here, come. Bring
with them whole almonds, dried berries & clementines
wrapped in cloth. Their clothes & smart shoes too.
By Purvi Shah
The mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling