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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 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 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 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 Martín Espada performs the poem "Alabanza" at the 2010 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
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 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 C. Corral Eduardo C. Corral reads "In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
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 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,