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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 Frank X Walker
When the universe reached out for your daughter's
daughter and she reached out for you, your hands
were too full of furniture to hold her
By Grace Cavalieri
Maybe she had dementia,
the old lady in the woolen hat,
I don't know, but she
By Kazim Ali
I was whispered along the road at Ache
toward the sun-puddled gate
By Jose Padua
I give to you a portrait of America in trash.
I give it to you with love and respect, America:
mountains of beer cans crumpled, plastic figures
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 Patricia Spears Jones
And I am full of worry I wrote to a friend
Worry, she replied about what—love, money, health?
All of them, I wrote back. It’s autumn, the air is clear
By Yael Flusberg
after the first three hours
the temperature dropped to visible breath.
my fall coat no longer protected and my toes
By Tiffany Higgins
I shall build a city upon a hill
and upon a hill and upon a hill and upon a hill
I am a little shepherd piping low