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Jennifer Foerster The war appeared to be coming to an end.
The no-name people not yet taken
left their crops for summer’s drought.
Kimberly Blaeser Scientists say my brain and heart
are 73 percent water—
they underestimate me.
Tamiko Beyer Dear child of the near future,
here is what I know—hawks
soar on the updraft and sparrows always
return to the seed source until they spot
Lisbeth White At the end of the field are tracks
train metal iron sound called whistle
to me a blare that splits air before it
Naomi Ortiz base booms opposite my scooter
I am obstruction
Destiny Hemphill listen.
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
Kimberly Blaeser Beginning with our continent, draw 1491:
each mountain, compass point Indigenous;
trace trade routes, languages, seasonal migrations—
don’t become attached.
leilani portillo when i say
the land is my
Kimberly Blaeser Yes, it’s true I speak ill of the living
in coded ways divorced from the dead.
Why Lyla June fasts on capitol steps.
Ching-In Chen My people – I see you across street, porch people, huddled under brick archway, watching what pours from sky. Wading in water, what circuits it carries – mostly numb, small, what might feel like circuit’s end.