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By Aideed Medina
De piedra, sangre.
I make my own heaven. I drag it out of the streets, and inhospitable terrains. I mixed "tabique", brick, mortar with my hands, kneading,
I need, to make my own heaven
By Juan J. Morales
Like two hands pressed
together, they are twice as large
on the island. One feeds
By Hari Alluri
Unless you’re practiced as a lola’s wrinkles,
do not flip the lit side of the yosi in your mouth.
They developed this skill in war and carried it
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 Jennifer Foerster
The war appeared to be coming to an end.
The no-name people not yet taken
left their crops for summer’s drought.
By Dasha Kelly Hamilton
Paintball pellets batter shoulders
and thighs at 190 miles per hour
I count the purplish bruises and
smile at the post vision of us toasting
By Tamiko Beyer
Dear child of the near future,
here is what I know—hawks
soar on the updraft and sparrows always
return to the seed source until they spot
By Nathan Spoon
You are living inside the cup of another life. Water
is running slowly. Somewhere a hand is overflowing
with the abundance and celebration denizens dream of.
By Jennifer Falú
By Carlos Andrés Gómez
whisper through tear gas—
remind of the original