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Gowri Koneswaran

Hold

By Gowri Koneswaran we're taught to hold hands
when we cross the street
or walk with our mothers in parking lots or
Pages d. Matam

Ma Mere n’a Jamais eu des ailes (My momma never had wings)

By Pages Matam Ma Mere n'a Jamais eu des ailes
My momma never had wings
But she could tap dance on hurricanes
Heather Holliger

Margins

By Heather Holliger She and I, our silences,
hesitations--at the grocery store,
in the taxi, on the street.
Ellen Hagan

Before Your Arrival

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.
Arhm Choi

How Manifestos Are Made

By Arhm Choi If I fail my mouth this story plays again.
Back home he yanks mama's mouth
round into screams, burns
Rachel McKibbens

Across the Street from the Whitmore Home for Girls, 1949

By Rachel McKibbens The Mad Girls climb the wet hill,
breathe the sharp air through sick-green lungs.
The Wildest One wanders off like an old cow
Venus Thrash

Uncivil

By Venus Thrash I am wearing a white tux with tails,
or a baby blue one with a ruffly shirt,
or decked out in classic black, or coolly
Carlos Andrés Gómez

Never Again (Rwanda Poem)

By Carlos Andrés Gómez
Kathleen Hellen

Belly Song

By Kathleen Hellen I sit in the front row of
bleachers -- cheap seats for greater grief.
My son
Judith Arcana

Can Safety Matches Make Us Safe?

By Judith Arcana You read the tiny cardboard book before
you scratch the strip under Augie's New Pizza
on the back of MIA:We still don't know
Page 13 of 15 pages