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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
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.
Kimberly Blaeser Scientists say my brain and heart
are 73 percent water—
they underestimate me.
Lisbeth White At the end of the field are tracks
train metal iron sound called whistle
to me a blare that splits air before it
H. Melt Whether it’s raining
or snowing, midnight or
you’re awaking from a nap,
working an eight hour shift
or watching reruns,
Steven Leyva a lobby shaped like a yawn, lined with lodestone
leftover from making the marquee. The congress
of picture shows and pulp flicks it seems
named this movie house, the Senator.
Angelique Palmer Trying to find faith
in a world that is slowly killing me and blaming me for why they can’t do it right
or why survival might be the only thing in the way of enjoying life
Jenny Xie One of the sent-down rusticated youth
Xia xiang: shuttled to the villages to work a steamed pot of land
Her austere fatigues and chatty pigtails
Lauren May me and all of my selves
we run like we’ve been here before
like we know what’s waiting here
and it's nothing
nothing for us
Raquel Salas Rivera los blancos en sus casas lloran
porque han tenido que desahuciar a sus huéspedes.
los apellidos y las propiedades lloran
porque han quemado los títulos de propiedad
de los gusanos.
the whites cry in their houses
because they’ve had to evict the guests.
the last names and the properties cry
because they’ve burned
the worms’ deeds.