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Laurie Ann Guerrero You must start small as our mothers were small,
our fathers, too, small.
In a pillowcase whip-stitched with roses
or in an old coffee can, collect your abuelos’
teeth; assure them you will not bury them
near the bones of the dog that froze
Cynthia Guardado A black woman stands with two toddlers hanging off her hips.
Her balance is perfect as she pushes her luggage with one leg,
the boys curl into her shoulders unaware of how
they all slide forward. I offer her my help. Her face is serious
Patrick Rosal The teacher can’t hear the children
over all this monsoon racket,
all the zillion spoons whacking
the rusty roofs, all the wicked tin streams
flipping full-grown bucks off their hooves.
Gwen Nell Westerman Our elders say
the universe is a
Anthony Moll We’re looking for that old revolutionary road again
a poet said we’d meet where the grass grows uphill.
I couldn’t think of a better way to describe America
torch in one hand, scrolling through her smart phone with the other
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
Tanya Paperny click on a live stream
of a memorial event
to commemorate victims
of Soviet terror
Kim Marshall We rush toward change, ask:
do you love me?
M. F. Simone Roberts Begin with da Vinci’s hybrid
of spring and top, of wood and iron,
and completely non-aerodynamic,
then crystallize the blue of the lagoon
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