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By Nicholas Samaras
What is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
By Joy Harjo
This city is made of stone, of blood, and fish.
There are Chugatch Mountains to the east
and whale and seal to the west.
By Brenda Cárdenas
This body always compost--
hair a plot of thin green stems
snowing a shroud of petals,
By Natalie Diaz
In the Kashmir mountains,
my brother shot many men,
blew skulls from brown skins,
By Tim Seibles
There are days I believe there ain' nothing to fear
I perk up for green lights, my engine on call
But it could be the zombies are already near
By Reginald Harris
Get off here. This is a story you've
been told: these streets before the trash,
the rats, the crack-heads nodding to ghost
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
By Denise Bergman
She is a neighbor a building away, we talk weather and potholes, exchange
names Mary same as her daughter or is she Marissa or Maria I was distracted
her nephew was chewing the leg of his doll and the day was disappearing before
By Richard Blanco
All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
By Jericho Brown
They said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid