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By Zara Houshmand
The label says Afghan Comedian
and nothing more, no artist, no provenance,
just a monitor’s unlidded eye embedded
By Rashida James-Saadiya
dodge words that rip into flesh
hide from clenched fist
By Marie-Elizabeth Mali
Pulling out of Union Square station, the subway
sounds the first three notes of There's a place for us,
somewhere a place for us. A woman sits on me, shoves
By Yvette Neisser Moreno
So this is how they decided to take him—
at the end of his life,
his frame shrunken, his wild rambling days over
By Patricia Monaghan
After the nightly news and four martinis
he quietly begins to draw the inner workings
of the bomb, knowing the explosion needed
By Patricia Spears Jones
And I am full of worry I wrote to a friend
Worry, she replied about what—love, money, health?
All of them, I wrote back. It’s autumn, the air is clear
By Alison Roh Park
If it were not so scarred from your accidental
rages—uptown, upstate—I would have rested
on the cinder block of your chest.
By Heather Davis
The lights in your home channel 29 men, their
soot stained clothes, last breaths, crystalline sweat
let loose on black rock
By Camille T. Dungy
Pause here at the flower stand-mums
and gladiolas, purple carnations
dark as my heart.
By Jody Bolz
Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.