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Rachel Eliza Griffiths I pick you up
& you are a child made of longing
clasped to my neck. Iridescent,
lovely, your inestimable tantrums,
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.
Lois Beardslee When I asked my mother
If she could remember
What her mother's mother called December
Julie Enszer The painters call before we move into the new house. Ma’am, they say—
I am not old enough to be a ma’am, but I don’t correct them—
Ma’am, they say, we smell gas.
I dismiss their concern. I say, Keep painting.
Allison Adelle Hedge Coke In a room facing chimneys
over the place Nancy Morejón rests
between sleeps lining free lines
she whispers to hearing DC:
Joseph O. Legaspi Amphibians live in both.
Immigrants leave their land,
hardening in the sea.
Out of water.
Lisa Suhair Majaj because wind soughs in the branches of trees
like blood sighing through veins
because in each country there are songs
Don Share July kindles the redneck in me.
I blaze down Interstates
that are viaducts for my beery nerves