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By Daniel Nathan Terry
There are oaks that remember
what we would forget--the burn of the rope,
how a body takes on more weight
By Derrick Weston Brown
Your brown skin is not a bomb.
Your brown skin does not mean bomb.
Though they doctor pictures.
By Truth Thomas
Shayna reads the Word and takes
the story of that first miracle as
serious as unpaid electric bills in
By Lillian Allen
The boy is broken on the sidewalk
The sidewalk is broken beneath him
His colour is back (not black)
By Jennifer Perrine
Under the surface of this winter lake,
I can still hear him say you're on thin ice
now, my heel grabbed, dragged into the opaque
By Amaranth Borsuk
Few things the hand wished language could
do, given up on dialect's downward spiral:
words so readily betray things they're meant
By Richard Blanco
All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
By Kenji Liu
Sharp tenure of boots in this callow country
grown from open skulls. A raw harvest of bullet casings
arranged in a perfect ring around you,
By Patricia Monaghan
They were always taught that all guns were loaded.
It was a way, he said, to keep them safe.
Don't you notice, he said, how people get shot