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Ruth Irupé Sanabria

Hija

By Ruth Irupé Sanabria I am the daughter of doves
That disappeared into dust
Hear my pulse whisper:
Jenny Browne

The Center for the Intrepid

By Jenny Browne Wheeled onto the jet leaving
my town, another soldier

whose pruned body echoes earth
liberating itself from gravity.
Elizabeth Hoover

Làt-Kat

By Elizabeth Hoover Ñuul, the teacher says and smacks his knee to show
where the stress falls. Ñuul, the children repeat each
starting at a different time so they sing a sour chord.
Persis M. Karim

Ways to Count the Dead

By Persis M. Karim Take their limbs strewn about the streets—
multiply by a thousand and one.

Ask everyone in Baghdad who has lost
Jeffrey Thomson

Achilles in Jasper, Texas

By Jeffrey Thomson I know this: a man walked home drunk
along the corduroy of pines
in west Texas, the bronze duff and

the dust and the late light that fell
Khaled Mattawa

Now That We Have Tasted Hope

By Khaled Mattawa Now that we have come out of hiding,
Why would we live again in the tombs we’d made out of our souls?
And the sundered bodies that we’ve reassembled
Najwan Darwish

Sleeping in Gaza

By Najwan Darwish Fado, I’ll sleep like people do
when shells are falling
and the sky is torn like living flesh
I’ll dream, then, like people do
Regie Cabico

A Queerification

By Regie Cabico queer me
shift me
transgress me
tell my students i'm gay
Nicholas Samaras

Anxiety Attack at 27,000 Feet

By Nicholas Samaras What is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
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
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