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By Chen Chen
My friend’s new neighbors in the suburbs
are planting a neat row of roses
between her house & theirs.
By Demetrice Anntía Worley
On this eve of the dead, I cry out loud,
“por favor Virgen de Guadalupe, don’t
forsake me,” before I open the door,
before I see la policía flat
By Kamilah Aisha Moon
When you're gay in Dixie,
you're a clown of a desperate circus.
Sometimes the only way to be like daddy
By Gayle Danley
This poem is in video format.
By Eduardo C. Corral
Are the knees & elbows
the first knots
the dead untie?
By Sheila Black
Sheila Black reads "My Mission is to Surprise & Delight" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
My daughter works in the Apple Store--the Help Center, open 24-7,
people from all fifty states, angry because their iPhones
malfunctioned or they don't know how to program their data
By Susan Scheid
There we stood, dressed like Egyptians
or what we thought Egyptians should look like
from all our National Geographic magazines.
By Richard Blanco
All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
By Jacob Rakovan
The bones cast in the field like seed corn grow nothing,
grow briars in the boarded gas stations
brown stalks ready for the fire.
By Jericho Brown
They said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid