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Vievee Francis

A WOMAN AT THE BOOKSTORE READING WONDERS HOW I MADE THE LEAP FROM MY FIRST BOOK [...]

By Vievee Francis A WOMAN AT THE BOOKSTORE READING
WONDERS HOW I MADE THE LEAP FROM MY FIRST BOOK
TO MY SECOND WHICH WON AN AWARD

She wants me to know how “different” my poetry is
one book to the next, preferring my second book that leaves her
blameless
Gbenga Adesina

PARADISE

By Gbenga Adesina North of the country, a road led to the desert.
Dust was the first sentence. The Sahara
was a white darkness in the distance,
and beyond it the glint of a Great Lake.
We drove past fields of ginger and wild purple onions.
There was a public garden and a ring of white egrets
around still water.
Nathan McClain

Q: Is there anything you miss about your life back then?

By Nathan McClain On one of those evenings you found yourself walking back, now that much of what daylight was left had moved on, as though some argument had long been settled and nothing lay ahead but a row of muted streetlamps and the future, of course, immediate, shimmering which, let’s face it, you were always going back to despite any guilt you still carried like a flashlight
Angela María Spring

Ode to the Mulberry Tree In Our Front Drive

By Angela María Spring Though the jam did not set, great chunks of purple-black in jars
placed as offerings behind the kitchen counter butcher block


homemade experiment by my Central American-born mamá, who warned
us to keep a stern eye out, said you invade, take over swiftly


and she was right as our desert—so unlike the humid, temperate climes from which
you first emerged—urges you grow fast to claim any water to be found,


yet as a tree you are migrant/immigrant like us so of course Tucson
banned your presence as Arizona pulled Latinx books from schools
Ina Cariño

Graveyard Picnic

By Ina Cariño memory of magnolia on lapels. grandfather’s paper
cheeks pale, teeth whiter than frosted hibiscus.

when I visit the mausoleum, I lay a white cloth on his tomb,
mesh of cobwebs stretched across the buds
mónica teresa ortiz

Provocations 1

By mónica teresa ortiz I wake up sleepless inside a room overlooking giants//mist peeling over olive trees//clouds of pleasure
Rio Cortez

Partum

By Rio Cortez Just as close to living as you are to disappearing knowing
my limits you locate the tender spots without.
Margo Tamez

Brecksville, Ohio

By Margo Tamez The weather in Brecksville was in transition.
He was wearing a light jacket. The seasonal
change of weather variations,
George Abraham

Ode to Mennel Ibtissam singing “Hallelujah” on The Voice (France), translated in Arabic

By George Abraham maybe if , ash & smolder way the – tongue own my in never but song this heard i've
– it birthed who fire the not & gospel become can , mouth right the in seen
Janice Lobo Sapigao

Bill Pay

By Janice Lobo Sapigao we don’t know how to pay the bills on time
and we don’t know the password to your bank account

& in all of our languages I understand why you stacked
linens and face towels and rubber bands and plastic bags

in drawers and hallway closets
everything filled to the brim
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