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By Penelope Scambly Schott
Back when I used to march
in the noon of the green world,
I sang like a crow.
By Jane Seitel
I wake into yet another day of doubt
creeping in as ants through a warped doorjamb.
The morning news brings new atrocities
By Claire Zoghb
He’s put the war out of his mind. Shelling and murdered relatives behind him.
By Nahshon Cook
Then he explained
how the Buddha
to reflect on the body
By Deema K. Shehabi
I could tell you that listening is made for the ashen sky,
and instead of the muezzin's voice, which lingers
like weeping at dawn,
By Melanie Graham
She appears again, 2-year-old riding her hip,
grief so great he can see through her birkha, past Qualaday,
into the kitchen, his mother nurturing chicken
in popping grease.
By Lisa Suhair Majaj
If they ask you what you are,
say Arab. If they flinch, don't react,
just remember your great-aunt's eyes.
By Andrea Carter Brown
We are not starving.
We are wearing
shoes on our feet.
By M.J. Iuppa
The fence that wasn't a barrier, that didn't hold
anything back or up, but was the grid over the scene of
smoke rising, smoldering from September
By Barbara Crooker
Oh, how we'd like to put this video in slow rewind,
go back to September 10th, refurl the chrysanthemum
of ash to a bud, pull the towers back up