THE NINE

By Tara Hardy They call it dissociation.
I call it THE NINE (children)
who live inside me.
Each of them encased
in amber, frozen in a mosquito-pose

intermittent apnea of unknown causation

By Doritt Carroll the first time it happened
i thought i was being strangled
four fingers compressing each side of my throat
no air

By Sandra Beasley We take pride in serving the

We’re accustomed to servicing the

Please take the attached

Please answer these six

By M. Soledad Caballero He says, they will not take us.
They want the ones who love
another god, the ones whose
joy comes with five prayers and

By Jeanann Verlee In a humble, godless house
you moved through youth like any girl.
Dolls & other toys, yours,
in parts.

By Paul Tran Desert born. Wild
As corn. Dry
Bitch. Itchy clit.
Meteorologists
Measure me

With mercury;
Police with murder rates.

By Jeneva Stone close to the Nevada border salt
flats dry beds octagonal or hexed

one constant the wind another
dryness the two wicked all away

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 Camisha Jones What you know bout ballin'
your every fiber into a tight fist,
letting the naps of history
that birthed you unfurl

By Rajiv Mohabir A twist of cotton
daubed in oil
catches flame, an echo