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Luis Alberto Ambroggio Poetry might never have seen
that categorical word,
but in its charged belligerence
of emotions and in its profound determination,
Clint Smith There is a lake here.
A lake the size of
outstretched arms. And no,
not the type of arms raised
Veronica Golos Have I stepped back in time, or forward?
A graveled road, hovering flags, the sound
of waves against chunk rock -- and
voices billow into birds,
Marcos L. Martínez There are immeasurable ways to count days: on the median the sunflower tracks UV streams: east to west then sleep; an acorn gets weeded out of the common area ‘til another live oak drobs a bomb then sprouts till, yanked away again;
Marci Calabretta Cancio-Bello I fell in love with a North Korean
by falling asleep on his shoulder
in a South Korean subway.
Lauren K. Alleyne Where does a black girl go
when her body is emptied `
Of her? And her wild voice,
where does it sing its story
Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib I think I am breaking up with memory. again. I live
by only that which will still allow me
to do the living. The flag, for example, reminds me
to either feel fear or sadness, depending on how high
Oliver Baez Bendorf The new perfection is imperfection.
I’m striving for it in all things great and small.
Stray from the recipe. Hit send. Risk it.
Leave the art a little crooked on the wall.
Jennifer Maritza McCauley Before they tell us how to look
at our kilt brothers' bodies:
Tell them we already know how to see ‘em.
Denice Frohman By now, you know their names, their cheekbones—
the tender hands they offered when you walked in.
You know the quivering strength of prayer and the art of making God listen.
How faith can summon weary backbones into pyramids.