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Jill Khoury

Certain Seams

By Jill Khoury The boy across the street points at me and lisps—now I know what they mean in books
when they say children lisp. He wears a red and white striped t-shirt, addresses my friend who
walks beside me. I ask people to please walk on my left side. It’s the eye that’s not completely dead
Patricia Davis

I Will Tell Her about Icarus

By Patricia Davis about his sister how she
wanted
to be light

built night in her ribs
Nicholas Samaras

Anxiety Attack at 27,000 Feet

By Nicholas Samaras What is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
Elizabeth Acevedo

The Therapist Says to Talk Through Your Door in Case You’re Listening

By Elizabeth Acevedo Rob, my heart is a peeled clementine and I don't wince
anymore when you stick your thumb in the hollow middle,
pull apart. You don't even swallow these pieces
Tim Seibles

Zombie Blues Villanelle

By Tim Seibles There are days I believe there ain' nothing to fear
I perk up for green lights, my engine on call
But it could be the zombies are already near
Merna Hecht

Special Effects

By Merna Hecht This morning I am remembering you, how as honored guest
you talked with my students who had recently arrived in America
from refugee camps where borders are stacked with blood and bullets.
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
Melanie Graham

The Price of a Life

By Melanie Graham She appears again, 2-year-old riding her hip,
grief so great he can see through her birkha, past Qualaday,
into the kitchen, his mother nurturing chicken
in popping grease.
Reginald Harris

Normal

By Reginald Harris walk long enough
with a pebble in your shoe
and walking with a pebble becomes
normal
Rashida James-Saadiya

Rain Dance

By Rashida James-Saadiya we scatter
dodge words that rip into flesh
hide from clenched fist
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