Knowing the Bomb So Well
By Patricia MonaghanAfter the nightly news and four martinis
he quietly begins to draw the inner workings
of the bomb, knowing the explosion needed
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Maine
By Carly SachsWhere does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers
Prayer of the Backhanded
By Jericho BrownNot the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God
That Pomegranate Shine
By Lori DesrosiersI was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.
Note from a Prodigal Son III
By Randall HortonThe gavel
The splintered body
The red-neck guards
One Man’s Plea
By Lita HooperFrederick Lake has been to prison
finished his time
convicted in 1989
Kissing in Vietnamese
By Ocean VuongMy grandmother kisses
as if bombs are bursting in the backyard,
where mint and jasmine lace their perfumes
After The UPS Man Shouted “Feed Your Baby At Home” Through His Truck Window
By Melisa Cahnmann-TaylorBionic Feeding Woman
whips breasts out, sprays
privacy netting over him
Looking Back on the Muckleshoot Reservation from Galisteo Street, Santa Fe
By Arthur SzeThe bow of a Muckleshoot canoe, blessed
with eagle feather and sprig of yellow cedar,
is launched into a bay.