By Jessica (Tyner) MehtaConductor drives us, the cow-
catcher barreling straight into the teeth
of Memory’s harshest winter.
By Hari AlluriUnless you’re practiced as a lola’s wrinkles,
do not flip the lit side of the yosi in your mouth.
They developed this skill in war and carried it
By Tobias WrayOnce done,
my father pulled
the instrument apart.
By I.S. Jonesthe moon is my first emotion then beast then happy rage
depending on a zealous appetite
i pull bobby pins from the kitchen of my scalp tear out nails
By Rosemary FerreiraHabichuelas bubbling on the stovetop. The kitchen door opens to our backyard. My father cuts out a piece of the campo and plants it here in Brooklyn. There are neighbors who knock on the door with a broom to let us know they’re selling pasteles. The train rumbles into a screech in the background, “This is Gates Avenue, the next stop is...”
By Destiny Hemphilllisten.
it’s in, not at. in the whistle & hiss, the steam of your breath as you chant
we ready (we ready), we comin (we comin) atop of a jail
building in ruins. yes, it’s in your breath & in the never dwindling
kindle of your fingertips as you reach out & touch
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