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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.
By Judith Arcana
You read the tiny cardboard book before
you scratch the strip under Augie's New Pizza
on the back of MIA:We still don't know
By Penelope Scambly Schott
Back when I used to march
in the noon of the green world,
I sang like a crow.
By Claire Zoghb
He’s put the war out of his mind. Shelling and murdered relatives behind him.
By Deema K. Shehabi
I could tell you that listening is made for the ashen sky,
and instead of the muezzin's voice, which lingers
like weeping at dawn,
By Lisa Suhair Majaj
If they ask you what you are,
say Arab. If they flinch, don't react,
just remember your great-aunt's eyes.