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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 Joshua Nguyen
To begin, let us end
this sentence with no friends or en
emies. Just wrong destin
ations to sad desks in Am-
hurst.
By Tiana Nobile
When you held him, how heavy was his head cradled in your lap? How long did you carry that
weight in your thighs?
By Sumita Chakraborty
We may try to change the shape of your body, or the color of your skin,
or the kinds of sounds that your mouths make, to match how we think you should.
By mónica teresa ortiz
I wake up sleepless inside a room overlooking giants//mist peeling over olive trees//clouds of pleasure
By Kateema Lee
She grew up hearing about girls
who never made it to womanhood, girls
whose names wore away with each decade
By Juan J. Morales
Like two hands pressed
together, they are twice as large
on the island. One feeds
By Janlori Goldman
His face stared out into the living room
of my grandparents’ walk-up on E. 13th.
After they died my father hung him
By Deborah A. Miranda
The people you cannot treat as people
Whose backs bent over your fields, your kitchens, your cattle, your children
We whose hands harvested the food we planted and cultivated for your mouth, your belly.
By Laura Tohe
My body
holds
stones