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By Kay Ulanday Barrett
Then how does candy spill? This way? Stare at the sky
as the MyChart results record blood levels. Peach laden,
cherry lacquer, lilac blossom marathon more at a window
sill on any almost-evening in... what month is it? When
statistics splay, when the masks are forgotten, there'll be
more of us we'll have to teach: catheters are ivy, monstera
fenestration consoles when you're on hold with the pharmacy
again.
By Karla Cordero
i watch slasher movies but hate the sight of real blood leave the body
i panic on planes & think of ways the machine or sky
will betray me i read books in fear to evaporate
out of this world without seeing its soft hands
By Faylita Hicks
Crawling out from between the legs of a woman
with my name still wetly slathered across her chin,
I cradle the lewd silk of our venom
up against the hot swell of my caged chest, wade out
through her front door, into the murky billows
of the damned and the damnable,
By Rio Cortez
Just as close to living as you are to disappearing knowing
my limits you locate the tender spots without.
By Tala Khanmalek
unbound pages carry my inheritance from Baba
a strategy to get around the system, like Baba
By Hayan Charara
The Arab apocalypse began around the year
of my birth, give or take—
the human apocalypse,
a few thousand years earlier.
By Aurora Levins Morales
Why do they call us "the patient"
We are not patient. We endure.
By Adela Najarro
I have learned to speak dementia
by looking straight into her eyes
smiling, laughing, then digging deep
By Leigh Sugar
I knew it was something bodies could do, disobey –
a girl a grade above had died that fall
of the cancer I was being tested for in winter,
By Margo Tamez
The weather in Brecksville was in transition.
He was wearing a light jacket. The seasonal
change of weather variations,