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Patricia Monaghan

Knowing the Bomb So Well

By Patricia Monaghan After the nightly news and four martinis
he quietly begins to draw the inner workings
of the bomb, knowing the explosion needed
Carly Sachs

Maine

By Carly Sachs Where does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers
Jericho Brown

Prayer of the Backhanded

By Jericho Brown Not the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God
Lori Desrosiers

That Pomegranate Shine

By Lori Desrosiers I was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.
Randall Horton

Note from a Prodigal Son III

By Randall Horton The gavel
The splintered body
The red-neck guards
Lita Hooper

One Man’s Plea

By Lita Hooper Frederick Lake has been to prison
finished his time
convicted in 1989
Ocean Vuong

Kissing in Vietnamese

By Ocean Vuong My grandmother kisses
as if bombs are bursting in the backyard,
where mint and jasmine lace their perfumes
Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor

After The UPS Man Shouted “Feed Your Baby At Home” Through His Truck Window

By Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor Bionic Feeding Woman
whips breasts out, sprays
privacy netting over him
Mark Nowak

ACT/SEVEN

By Mark Nowak They took me right down
the hill, and
pulled up in front
Arthur Sze

Looking Back on the Muckleshoot Reservation from Galisteo Street, Santa Fe

By Arthur Sze The bow of a Muckleshoot canoe, blessed
with eagle feather and sprig of yellow cedar,
is launched into a bay.
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