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Wang Ping

On a Playground in Park Slope, Brooklyn a Retired Neurologist from Beijing is Cursing

By Wang Ping
Eduardo Corral

In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes

By Eduardo C. Corral

Landscapes that Remind Me of My Children / Pasajes que me Recuerdan a Mis Hijos

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
Oliver de la Paz

Diaspora 2

By Oliver de la Paz The way is written in the dark:

it has steel in it, something metallic, a gun,

a mallet, a piece of machinery--

something cold like the sea, something,
L. Lamar Wilson

A Patch of Blue in Tenleytown

By L. Lamar Wilson She ambles about this Mickey-Dee kitchen’s din,
unmoved by the hot grease threatening
her ¿puedo tomar su orden? mask.
Joseph O. Legaspi

Amphibians

By Joseph O. Legaspi Amphibians live in both.

Immigrants leave their land,
hardening in the sea.

Out of water.
Chen Chen

Set the Garden on Fire

By Chen Chen My friend’s new neighbors in the suburbs
are planting a neat row of roses
between her house & theirs.
Ross Gay

To the Fig Tree on 9th and Christian

By Ross Gay Tumbling through the
city in my
mind without once
looking up
Leona Sevick

White

By Leona Sevick Instead, I spotted our mother in a tiny
chair in the back row, her blue-black head
shining unnaturally. She was dressed in
Lisa Suhair Majaj

A Few Reasons to Oppose the War

By Lisa Suhair Majaj because wind soughs in the branches of trees
like blood sighing through veins
because in each country there are songs
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