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By Majda Gama
I wanted to be Her Kind, to go out a hennaed hand-
maiden, sneak across the rooftops of Jeddah dome-by-dome,
until I reached the coastline of the eternal bride.
By 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
By 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
By 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
By 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
By Danielle Badra
We are not born to be barons of wealth. We
are soft spoken wordsmiths, not soldiers. We are
not broken by hardship or hate. We are not
By Camisha Jones
What you know bout ballin'
your every fiber into a tight fist,
letting the naps of history
that birthed you unfurl
By Remica Bingham-Risher
I am almost convinced this morning by the volley
of verses on each frequency, roughnecks telling it
like they want it to be, intoning You bad, baby
By Luis Alberto Ambroggio
Poetry might never have seen
that categorical word,
but in its charged belligerence
of emotions and in its profound determination,
By Holly Karapetkova
There never was a garden
only a leaving:
miles and miles
of footprints in the dirt.