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By Aricka Foreman
When the hollow grows thick, she prescribes
20 mg to take every morning for four to five days,
then increase as tolerated. Take it with fish oil and
a book of artificial light, try not to repeat the question.
By Katy Richey
There’s not a single thing in your closet
that should be worn after 1997.
You do look fat in those pants,
By JP Howard
black women we be trying to hold worlds
on our backs, in our hearts without fail
some days we fail at perfection
By Purvi Shah
You had a name no one
could hold between their
teeth. So they pronounced
By Patrick Rosal
A brisk sunset walk home: Lafayette Ave.
After weeks straight of triple layers
and double gloves, the day has inched
By Catherine Klatzker
The world was always a place of silence,
of congenital shame—even before those days
in 1967, four years before you met your love. Your
strength grew belatedly, fertilized as it was in the
knowledge that you were nothing. Your life did
not matter to anyone, except to hurt you.
By Ross Gay
There is a puritan in me
the brim of whose
hat is so sharp
it could cut
your tongue out
By Fady Joudah
Does consciousness exist only when
you name it? Was the double helix a
stranger, the nucleus the first brain?
I feel therefore I am. This is more
By Rachel Eliza Griffiths
I pick you up
& you are a child made of longing
clasped to my neck. Iridescent,
lovely, your inestimable tantrums,
By Alison Roh Park
My daddy's hands were scarred
and through the smallest details escaped
years ago I remember them a strong
brown like here is the axe that missed