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Vickie Vértiz

‘70 Chevy El Camino

By Vickie Vértiz The men inside the Pep Boys wear blue work shirts. Fingerprints on the hems. That’s
how I’m going to be: my hands with grease that won’t wash off. Like Apá buying Freon.
Fenders. My sister sniffs the little trees, outlines the posing girls with her eyes. We buy
peanuts and their candy turns our palms to red
Candice Iloh

everyone knows what happened

By Candice Iloh the parents got a phone call from the school
the school told the parents the behavior was

inappropriate something that won’t be tolerated unacceptable
Sunu P. Chandy

Impulse Buys

By Sunu P. Chandy At the shiny stones and rocks booth, I am unusually patient. I even consider spending a few dollars on a few pebbles. She seemed to sense that, without me saying a word, and I could feel her heart smile.

And then in one instant, everything changed. Looking toward the cashier, she saw, just hanging out there on the wall, real guns in real life.

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.
Adela Najarro

Juanita Falls into Transformative Nouns

By Adela Najarro I have learned to speak dementia
by looking straight into her eyes
smiling, laughing, then digging deep
Eugenia Leigh

One Year After My Dying Father and I Stop Speaking to Each Other Again

By Eugenia Leigh Someone on the internet is mourning
her dad—that old goat—with a goldmine

of anecdotes. Scraps of fondness I scrape off
her tweet—his beef wellington, her frogs. I want
Erin Hoover

To be a mother in this economy

By Erin Hoover My child babies a squeeze bottle of craft glue
or a lipstick tube filched from my purse.
She yanks a tissue from our coffee table
Michal ‘MJ’ Jones

THE MAGIC YOUR BODY BECOMES

By Michal 'MJ' Jones You are [found] in
cherry blossom trees / heron bird flight /rib-
bon of night / space between stairs / rose
Juan J. Morales

Of Avocados

By Juan J. Morales Like two hands pressed
together, they are twice as large
on the island. One feeds
Dasha Kelly Hamilton

Hope is a Bruise

By Dasha Kelly Hamilton Paintball pellets batter shoulders
and thighs at 190 miles per hour
I count the purplish bruises and
smile at the post vision of us toasting
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