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Fatimah Asghar

america

By Fatimah Asghar am I not your baby?
brown & not allowed

my own language?
my teeth pulled
Craig Santos Perez

Twinkle, Twinkle, Morning Star

By Craig Santos Perez kaikainaliʻi wakes from her late afternoon nap
and reaches for nālani with small open hands—

count how many papuan children
still reach for their disappeared parents—
Rachel Eliza Griffiths

dear America

By Rachel Eliza Griffiths I pick you up
& you are a child made of longing
clasped to my neck. Iridescent,
lovely, your inestimable tantrums,
Hari Alluri

The Opposite of Holding in Breath—

By Hari Alluri the tea in her glass. It glows the brocade.
Her grandmother picked that tea
on a mountain—a mountain in a war
whose shores were her bed. Steeping, the petals
Susanna Lang

Kitchen, Donetsk

By Susanna Lang She had planned to offer peaches with the tea.

August was warm; the fruit had ripened to perfection.

She’d placed two paring knives on the cutting board,
set out the teapot with nasturtiums painted on the side.
Naomi Ayala

Within Me

By Naomi Ayala
Andrea Gibson

For Eli

By Andrea Gibson
Martín Espada

Alabanza

By Martín Espada
Marilyn Nelson

Millie Christine

By Marilyn Nelson
Shailja Patel

The Cup Runneth Over

By Shailja Patel
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