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Meg Eden

factory work: made in china.

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
Joseph Ross

In a Summer of Snipers

By Joseph Ross In a summer of snipers
some men raised their hands
with fingers pressed
Kim Roberts

Portrait of Hippocrates, or Buqrat

By Kim Roberts O augury seeker,
know and be aware...
In the book of divination,
Kathleen Hellen

Belly Song

By Kathleen Hellen I sit in the front row of
bleachers -- cheap seats for greater grief.
My son
Kathleen O’Toole

Halim, waiting

By Kathleen O'Toole He arrived first as a student of geology
in the bicentennial year.
He witnessed
Kim Jensen

And Even George W. is out of a Job

By Kim Jensen You know the economy's bad
when people are lined up around the block
to apply for the job
of the wicked witch.
Alan King

Uprising

By Alan King The president of pride's been overthrown
by a coup.
The president of humility shakes his head.
Naomi Ayala

In Adams Morgan, Two Years of Neighborhood-Wide Reconstruction Come to a Halt for the Night

By Naomi Ayala And now, where the moon
rose behind here,
three stories loom—
Chris August

Oil: A Love Poem

By Chris August America, don’t we love like oil?
Don’t our slippery arms
Pave the pores of those who need us?
Jody Bolz

Mutanabbi Street

By Jody Bolz Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.
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