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Natalie Diaz

Ode to the Beloved’s Hips

By Natalie Diaz

Latin Freestyle

By David-Matthew Barnes I remember the rhythm at night:

Your hips wanting mine,
to grind our street-smart
Natalie Diaz

Why I Don’t Mention Flowers When Conversations with My Brother Reach Uncomfortable Silences

By Natalie Diaz In the Kashmir mountains,
my brother shot many men,
blew skulls from brown skins,
Gowri Koneswaran

Hold

By Gowri Koneswaran we're taught to hold hands
when we cross the street
or walk with our mothers in parking lots or
Camille T. Dungy

Arthritis is one thing, the hurting another

By Camille T. Dungy The poet's hands degenerate until her cup is too heavy.
You are not required to understand.
This is not the year for understanding.
Nahshon Cook

From a Conversation-Hour Discussion About Intolerance with Adult English Students

By Nahshon Cook Then he explained
how the Buddha
instructed us
to reflect on the body
Camille T. Dungy

Daisy Cutter

By Camille T. Dungy Pause here at the flower stand-mums
and gladiolas, purple carnations
dark as my heart.
Arthur Sze

Looking Back on the Muckleshoot Reservation from Galisteo Street, Santa Fe

By Arthur Sze The bow of a Muckleshoot canoe, blessed
with eagle feather and sprig of yellow cedar,
is launched into a bay.
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