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Rajiv Mohabir A twist of cotton
daubed in oil
catches flame, an echo
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
Keith Wilson shall i tell you, then, that we exist?
there came a light, blue and white careening,
the police like wailing angels
to bitter me.
Sarah Sansolo You wear the faded muslin—
did it begin yours or mine?
Everything we have is both.
Everything we are is both,
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.
Gordon Cash You scream your bullhorn lies, intimidate,
Harass, respect no law of man. You speak
Of scalpels, sutures, and sterility,
Dismemberment, death by regret, all lies,
And bear false witness with each one against
Charlie Bondhus At the mirror I heft
elbows, belly, cock,
say hematocrit—44.3; hemoglobin—15.2;
Karen Skolfield It's right next to a Polariod booth.
The instructions say the needles are small
and barely felt. The pictures, it explains,
have nudity, but no gratuitous nudity.
Martín Espada Martín Espada performs the poem "Alabanza" at the 2010 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Eduardo C. Corral Eduardo C. Corral reads "In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.