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Lisa L. Moore

Cowgirl Filibuster

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
Patricia Monaghan

Loaded

By Patricia Monaghan They were always taught that all guns were loaded.
It was a way, he said, to keep them safe.
Don't you notice, he said, how people get shot
Jericho Brown

‘N’em

By Jericho Brown They said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid
Remica L. Bingham

Things I Carried Coming Into the World

By Remica L. Bingham The weight of my parents,
the dawn of them;
my grandmother's lackluster
Emily K. Bright

Community

By Emily K. Bright It is nearly midnight and I'm
scrubbing at the grout.
The dishes, washed,
Samiya Bashir

Manistee Lights

By Samiya Bashir Brother I don't either understand this
skipscrapple world that is--these
slick bubble cars zip feverish down
Richard Blanco

Looking for The Gulf Motel

By Richard Blanco The Gulf Motel with mermaid lampposts
and ship's wheel in the lobby should still be
rising out of the sand like a cake decoration.
Rachel Simon

Postmark from the Transition

By Rachel M. Simon the name altered from parent's choosing
the threshold of a home
white gloves on the windowsill
Pages d. Matam

Ma Mere n’a Jamais eu des ailes (My momma never had wings)

By Pages Matam Ma Mere n'a Jamais eu des ailes
My momma never had wings
But she could tap dance on hurricanes
Cathy Linh Che

Split

By Cathy Lihn Che I see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.
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