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Deborah A. Miranda Wife and dogs have gone to bed.
I sit here with the front door open.
Crickets sing patiently, a long lullaby
in lazy harmony. Rain falls
Tanya Paperny click on a live stream
of a memorial event
to commemorate victims
of Soviet terror
Kim Marshall We rush toward change, ask:
do you love me?
David Gewanter Wealth, passing through the hands
of the few, becomes the property
of the many, ensuring the survival
M. F. Simone Roberts Begin with da Vinci’s hybrid
of spring and top, of wood and iron,
and completely non-aerodynamic,
then crystallize the blue of the lagoon
Tatiana Figueroa Ramirez I wake up to the alarm clocks
of cocks & gallinas struggling
for their corner of the callejón.
on the preheated concrete.
Sandra Beasley We take pride in serving the
We’re accustomed to servicing the
Please take the attached
Please answer these six
Katherine E. Young This is the poem meant for this mo(u)rning,
now the winds have died down,
the dogwood’s unclenched its frightened fists,
and the morning’s calling
Seema Reza When the soldier knocks on your door, billet book in hand, move aside
to let him enter. He will wipe his feet, remove his hat
(you’ll learn to call it a cover)
he will be polite, place his rifle by the door
Ella Jaya Sran to the screams.
to the glass-shattering pleas for life
that no one but they can hear.
to the wooden desks that were my sanctuary