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Adele Hampton

Reclaim

By Adele Hampton I'm not afraid to say abortion. It's a word that falls lead-heavy out of the mouth like your tongue can't handle the weight society hangs from its unassuming letters.

a poem about abortion

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.
Teresa Scollon

River, Page

By Teresa Scollon Look how you've carried these small bodies
across the ocean, looking for the next one
to hear the story. Look how gently you laid

these children down at the fire where stories are told.
Patricia Davis

I Will Tell Her about Icarus

By Patricia Davis about his sister how she
wanted
to be light

built night in her ribs
David Mura

Minneapolis Public

By David Mura There are 150 first languages in our schools
and so many aliens even E.T. would go unnoticed,
though if your tongue moved one way in the land of your birth
Lisa L. Moore

Cowgirl Filibuster

By Lisa L. Moore Word got out about the bad bill.
College students packed up their bikinis,
went back to Austin to tell those men why
Jericho Brown

‘N’em

By Jericho Brown They said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid
Samiya Bashir

Manistee Lights

By Samiya Bashir Brother I don't either understand this
skipscrapple world that is--these
slick bubble cars zip feverish down
Rachel Simon

Postmark from the Transition

By Rachel M. Simon the name altered from parent's choosing
the threshold of a home
white gloves on the windowsill
Purvi Shah

Loss is an art, traversing one world to the next

By Purvi Shah The mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
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