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Malcolm Friend

Diasporican Rechristening

By Malcolm Friend We work.
We are sometimes on time.
We are sometimes late.
We are sometimes
coming up with the excuses
for why we can’t make it
even as we know we have to.
Some of us are trying to be American
and some of us are trying to be boricua
and some of us are trying.
Cass Garison

On Reverence

By Cass Garison I adore the carnations & I adore
the trains, specifically the boxcars
with endings & beginnings I can’t

keep track of, who drag their stretched
torsos like absolute creatures around
what seems like earth’s clearest curve.
Jzl Jmz

Obligation #25 (TRANSACTION)

By Jzl Jmz I CROSS MY LEGS - I BRUSH
MY CLAVICLE / I PITCH MY
LAUGH - I LAUGH - I LOOK
AWAY / I SMILE
Mia S. Willis

for imam khaliifah ibn rayford daniels.

By Mia S. Willis when the state murdered a poet
none of us slept none of us deserved to
the way we stood by with pens and phones and helpless guilt
Taylor Alyson Lewis

milk river

By Taylor Alyson Lewis there once was an island love or magic resurrected
where they could go to rest and look at
each other plainly and hold one another’s
hands and play music in their cars so that
the bass reverberated through the mountains
and down into the ocean and live.
Jalynn Harris

Druid Hill Park, Baltimore MD

By Jalynn Harris At the entrance, six copper pillars stand tall as a wave
as once did six-fingered Lucille. She lived here, too–

The light alone enough to fill the lake. I walk the park
because I’m weak. All flesh and fur needing

to get out my bark. My rough squeeze of please please
A red bird. Another mile. My feet eat the concrete.
Samia Saliba

historicity

By Samia Saliba golden shovel after karl marx, walter benjamin, richard siken, & zaina alsous

“the tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living”
- karl marx

in american cemeteries the dead overlap, the
hillside ostentatious in the catholic tradition.
Ana Portnoy Brimmer

Sargassum / Sargazo

By Ana Portnoy Brimmer There’s so much to be learned from that which floats A patience
from the Gulf of Mexico to a sea of its name sargassum
drifts hand in hand with itself
José Angel Araguz

Every S In This Poem is Telling On Me

By José Angel Araguz I knew nothing about poems
when I was introduced to
the woman selling seashells by
the seashore. Placed in a
remedial speech class, told
my S’s served no one,
I felt set aside in
the silence of clear hallways

where I walked slow, savoring
not being where I belonged.
Jaz Sufi

ETYMOLOGY OF BORDERS

By Jaz Sufi BORDER, from the Middle English bordure, meaning “the decorative band
surrounding a shield,” a heraldic device intended to identify
possession — this flag flies over that land, & so this land belongs
to…
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