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By Susan Scheid
There we stood, dressed like Egyptians
or what we thought Egyptians should look like
from all our National Geographic magazines.
By Truth Thomas
Shayna reads the Word and takes
the story of that first miracle as
serious as unpaid electric bills in
By Philip Metres
How a Basra librarian
could haul the books each night,
load by load, into her car,
By Emily K. Bright
It is nearly midnight and I'm
scrubbing at the grout.
The dishes, washed,
By Margaret Rozga
Let there be drums and harps,
piccolos and flutes, violins,
banjos and guitars.
By Meg Eden
I look for a man's hand inside
the folds of my purse, and find
a pattern that recalls a finger print, the way
By Camille T. Dungy
The poet's hands degenerate until her cup is too heavy.
You are not required to understand.
This is not the year for understanding.
By Marilyn Nelson
Somebody took a picture of a class
standing in line to get polio shots,
and published it in the Weekly Reader.
By Antoinette Brim
Let the moon untangle itself
from the clothesline, as coming daylight
diminishes its lamp to memory.
By Kathleen O'Toole
He arrived first as a student of geology
in the bicentennial year.