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By Amanda Gorman
There’s a poem in this place—
in the footfalls in the halls
in the quiet beat of the seats.
It is here, at the curtain of day,
By Joshua Jennifer Espinoza
Like light but
in reverse we billow.
We turn a corner
and make the hills
the cedar tree could not comprehend
the crime could not comprehend a leaning
a lynching a love gone wrong
By Jane Hirshfield
As things grow rarer, they enter the ranges of counting.
Remain this many Siberian tigers,
that many African elephants. Three hundred red egrets.
By Esther Lin
After learning his appointment was canceled
and his senior bus won’t come for another two
hours my father calls from his waiting room
By Pat Parker (d.)
I wish I could be
the lover you want
By Minal Hajratwala
Your rage is pomegranates spilling open on ice, is the flute’s thin silver seam, is a volcano spitting rivulets of fire to wash clean these corrupt lands.
By Jen Hofer
what dateless body what we exacted or nixed or hexed in the eternal present of not being able to – what not being able to not be considered garbage or trashed by the bag
By Sarah Maria Medina
Learn to attend the fire, learn that breath between stones & flames lets the fire burn. Notice her breath, give her breath from your mouth, heated from your pink tongue.
By Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano
Brown is the color of my god’s skin.
Gentle, curvy, older than a Spanish whip.
My god abides outside of sin,
no water needed to baptize the newly born.