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By Kathleen Hellen
I sit in the front row of
bleachers -- cheap seats for greater grief.
By Rashida James-Saadiya
dodge words that rip into flesh
hide from clenched fist
By Joseph O. Legaspi
slides down into my body, soft
lambs wool, what everybody
in school is wearing, and for me
By Judith Roche
They are only boys, though murderers and rapists.
Bad skin is an issue. Candy bars a treat.
Some are fathers. Few have fathers.
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 Jaime Lee Jarvis
Was it the rush of words in that language
we understood only when we cocked our heads,
speaking on the slant, slurring our way
By Jericho Brown
Not the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God
By Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor
Bionic Feeding Woman
whips breasts out, sprays
privacy netting over him