from Clangings
By Steven CramerI hear the dinner plates gossip
Mom collected to a hundred.
My friends say get on board,
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Ghazal for the Ninth Month
By Shadab Zeest HashmiYour august birth, my taking oath as an American, were only weeks apart.
The most I can remember is your rocking to a dull ache before we were apart.
Our hill was plush, the whole place soaked up the scent of raisin pulao.
Cowgirl Filibuster
By Lisa L. MooreWord got out about the bad bill.
College students packed up their bikinis,
went back to Austin to tell those men why
‘N’em
By Jericho BrownThey said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid
Looking for The Gulf Motel
By Richard BlancoThe Gulf Motel with mermaid lampposts
and ship's wheel in the lobby should still be
rising out of the sand like a cake decoration.
Red-Tailed Hawk
By Patricia MonaghanJust past dawn in early fall,
a sparrow screamed at me
as I walked into the woods.
Hold
By Gowri Koneswaranwe're taught to hold hands
when we cross the street
or walk with our mothers in parking lots or
Ma Mere n’a Jamais eu des ailes (My momma never had wings)
By Pages MatamMa Mere n'a Jamais eu des ailes
My momma never had wings
But she could tap dance on hurricanes
Margins
By Heather HolligerShe and I, our silences,
hesitations--at the grocery store,
in the taxi, on the street.
Before Your Arrival
By Ellen Haganthe ones who brought your father here, come. Bring
with them whole almonds, dried berries & clementines
wrapped in cloth. Their clothes & smart shoes too.