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Teresa Scollon

River, Page

By Teresa Scollon Look how you've carried these small bodies
across the ocean, looking for the next one
to hear the story. Look how gently you laid

these children down at the fire where stories are told.
Leona Sevick

White

By Leona Sevick Instead, I spotted our mother in a tiny
chair in the back row, her blue-black head
shining unnaturally. She was dressed in
Kamilah Aisha Moon

Dressing Down

By Kamilah Aisha Moon When you're gay in Dixie,
you're a clown of a desperate circus.
Sometimes the only way to be like daddy
Elizabeth Acevedo

The Therapist Says to Talk Through Your Door in Case You’re Listening

By Elizabeth Acevedo Rob, my heart is a peeled clementine and I don't wince
anymore when you stick your thumb in the hollow middle,
pull apart. You don't even swallow these pieces
Venus Thrash

Abortion in the Garden of Eden

By Venus Thrash Deep in the heart of the Garden of Eden,
past the Euphrates & Tigris riverbanks,
the marsh grass, reed beds, bulrushes,
Joy Harjo

Anchorage

By Joy Harjo This city is made of stone, of blood, and fish.
There are Chugatch Mountains to the east
and whale and seal to the west.
Gayle Danley

Tough

By Gayle Danley This poem is in video format.
Tess Taylor

Eighteenth Century Remains

By Tess Taylor The ridge a half mile down from Monticello.
A pit cut deeper than the plow line.
Archaeologists plot the dig by scanning
Natalie Diaz

Why I Don’t Mention Flowers When Conversations with My Brother Reach Uncomfortable Silences

By Natalie Diaz In the Kashmir mountains,
my brother shot many men,
blew skulls from brown skins,
Shadab Zeest Hashmi

Ghazal for the Ninth Month

By Shadab Zeest Hashmi Your august birth, my taking oath as an American, were only weeks apart.
The most I can remember is your rocking to a dull ache before we were apart.
Our hill was plush, the whole place soaked up the scent of raisin pulao.
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