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By Amina Iro
This poem is in video format.
By Lourdes Galván
Utica is a pretty and quiet country
When I was at the bus station
my son would say to me, 'mom, I am hungry'
and a man who was sweeping came up to me
By L. Lamar Wilson
She ambles about this Mickey-Dee kitchen’s din,
unmoved by the hot grease threatening
her ¿puedo tomar su orden? mask.
By Ailish Hopper
a form resound
and so the many lines I am told
not to cross
By Craig Santos Perez
By Kelli Stevens Kane
blueberry blackberry as always
bleeding, back road or boulevard,
our boy crowned with baton,
By Karen Skolfield
Balloon, then papier mâché.
Gray paint, blue and turquoise, green,
a clouded world with fishing line attached
By T. J. Jarrett
its ruthless syntax, and the ease with which it interjects
itself into our days. I thought how best to explain this—
this dark winter, but that wasn’t it, or beds unshared
but that isn’t exactly it either, until I remembered
By Devi K. Lockwood
No, not scrubs. Put on your tight purple dress and heels,
dig them into the new carpet. You have to look gorgeous,
that way they’ll trust you. And the patients start pouring in.