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By Lindsay Vaughn
Women who are not ready we have our own ways
we take pills lie in our lovers’ beds
curled like blades of grass we wait for the writhing wind
that aches and rocks our slender bodies they whisper
By Persis M. Karim
Take their limbs strewn about the streets—
multiply by a thousand and one.
Ask everyone in Baghdad who has lost
By Shailja Patel
back onto itself, sing tearing
whole again, sing altered
By Danez Smith
one is hard & the other tried to be
one is fast & the other was faster
one is loud & one is a song
By Tess Taylor
The ridge a half mile down from Monticello.
A pit cut deeper than the plow line.
Archaeologists plot the dig by scanning
By Kenji Liu
Sharp tenure of boots in this callow country
grown from open skulls. A raw harvest of bullet casings
arranged in a perfect ring around you,
By Heather Holliger
She and I, our silences,
hesitations--at the grocery store,
in the taxi, on the street.
By Solmaz Sharif
Your knives tip down
in the dish rack
of the replica plantation home
By Cathy Lihn Che
I see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.
By Deema K. Shehabi
I could tell you that listening is made for the ashen sky,
and instead of the muezzin's voice, which lingers
like weeping at dawn,