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By Jonathan Mendoza
Example: I place my hand in a pool of salt.
Some stays. Some seeps into my skin.
Everything goes exactly where it’s supposed to.
By John James
In Georgetown, IN, the steel projector reels.
The desert stretches blankly before us, a red
plain constellated with rows of dry mesquite.
By Sarah Browning
After the great snow of 2016, my car sits
locked in icy drifts a week, green fossil
of the oil age preserved in graying amber.
By Melissa Tuckey
Unable to sleep,
the blankets wrapped in waves, waves
as tall as dreams,
the dream world trying to make sense
By Claire Hermann
God separated the light from the darkness,
but I have a light switch.
Once there was morning and evening,
but now someone has torn the heart out of a mountain,
By Kim Roberts
Hundreds of tiny fry
crowd the single tank,
churning the water milky.
The fry grow to parr
By Susan Eisenberg
for my asthma inhaler that
last year cost fifteen
I pause for the mom
By Purvi Shah
You had a name no one
could hold between their
teeth. So they pronounced
By Fred Joiner
a pocket can sometimes be
a kind of prison,
I have never lived in
By Craig Santos Perez
Craig Santos Perez performs the poem "Spam's Carbon Footprint" at the 2016 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.