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By Abdul Ali
My father and I run into each other at the edge of Lower Manhattan,
World Trade Center, where there’s a movie house.
We tiptoe down the slope, making our way to our seats.
By Leona Sevick
Instead, I spotted our mother in a tiny
chair in the back row, her blue-black head
shining unnaturally. She was dressed in
By Naomi Ayala
Two blocks away
where yellow cabs
zip by without stopping
By Myra Sklarew
In the mirror of infinite regress
go back. Go back to Vietnam. To a man
who can spot a trip wire fine as a hair,
By Truth Thomas
Shayna reads the Word and takes
the story of that first miracle as
serious as unpaid electric bills in
By Meg Eden
I look for a man's hand inside
the folds of my purse, and find
a pattern that recalls a finger print, the way
By Joseph Ross
In a summer of snipers
some men raised their hands
with fingers pressed
By Kim Roberts
O augury seeker,
know and be aware...
In the book of divination,
By Kathleen Hellen
I sit in the front row of
bleachers -- cheap seats for greater grief.
By Kathleen O'Toole
He arrived first as a student of geology
in the bicentennial year.