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Ross Gay

ode to the puritan in me

By Ross Gay There is a puritan in me
the brim of whose
hat is so sharp
it could cut
your tongue out
Dunya Mikhail

The Iraqi Nights, Section 7

By Dunya Mikhail In Iraq,
after a thousand and one nights,
someone will talk to someone else.
Markets will open
for regular customers.
Fatimah Asghar

america

By Fatimah Asghar am I not your baby?
brown & not allowed

my own language?
my teeth pulled
Susanna Lang

Kitchen, Donetsk

By Susanna Lang She had planned to offer peaches with the tea.

August was warm; the fruit had ripened to perfection.

She’d placed two paring knives on the cutting board,
set out the teapot with nasturtiums painted on the side.
Fatimah Asghar

Photo Albums

By Fatimah Asghar The names of my family members swirl
like dust in my lungs. I try to write about birds

& only pull from my pen animal skin.
My bones alive & a lament of dignified grief
Khaled Mattawa

Ecclesiastes

By Khaled Mattawa Khaled Mattawa performs the poem "Ecclesiastes" at the 2012 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Wang Ping

On a Playground in Park Slope, Brooklyn a Retired Neurologist from Beijing is Cursing

By Wang Ping Wang Ping reads "On a Playground in Park Slope, Brooklyn a Retired Neurologist from Beijing is Cursing" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Danez Smith

Dear White America

By Danez Smith Danez Smith performs "Dear White America" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Dunya Mikhail

The Shape of the World

By Dunya Mikhail Dunya Mikhail reads "The Shape of the World" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Jamila Woods

Blk Girl Art

By Jamila Woods Poems are bullshit unless they are eyeglasses, honey
tea with lemon, hot water bottles on tummies. I want
poems my grandma wants to tell the ladies at church
about. I want orange potato words soaking in the pot
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