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Hari Alluri

The Opposite of Holding in Breath—

By Hari Alluri the tea in her glass. It glows the brocade.
Her grandmother picked that tea
on a mountain—a mountain in a war
whose shores were her bed. Steeping, the petals
Karen Finneyfrock

The Newer Colossus

By Karen Finneyfrock My feet have been wilting in this salt-crusted cement
since the French sent me over on a steamer in pieces.
I am the new Colossus, wonder of the modern world,
a woman standing watch at the gate of power.
Kazumi Chin

The Last New Year’s Resolution

By Kazumi Chin The very last mammoth was just like the others,
except more lonely. The very last tortilla chip
makes me feel guilty.The very last line
of the poem changes everything about
Fatimah Asghar

Photo Albums

By Fatimah Asghar The names of my family members swirl
like dust in my lungs. I try to write about birds

& only pull from my pen animal skin.
My bones alive & a lament of dignified grief
Martín Espada

Alabanza

By Martín Espada Martín Espada performs the poem "Alabanza" at the 2010 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Carlos Andrés Gómez

Juan Valdez (or Why is a white guy like you named “Carlos”?)

By Carlos Andrés Gómez Carlos Andrés Gómez performs the poem " 'Juan Valdez' (or 'Why is a white guy like you named 'Carlos'?')" at the 2012 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Wang Ping

On a Playground in Park Slope, Brooklyn a Retired Neurologist from Beijing is Cursing

By Wang Ping Wang Ping reads "On a Playground in Park Slope, Brooklyn a Retired Neurologist from Beijing is Cursing" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Eduardo Corral

In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes

By Eduardo C. Corral Eduardo C. Corral reads "In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.

Landscapes that Remind Me of My Children / Pasajes que me Recuerdan a Mis Hijos

By Lourdes Galván Utica is a pretty and quiet country
When I was at the bus station
my son would say to me, 'mom, I am hungry'
and a man who was sweeping came up to me
Oliver de la Paz

Diaspora 2

By Oliver de la Paz The way is written in the dark:

it has steel in it, something metallic, a gun,

a mallet, a piece of machinery--

something cold like the sea, something,
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