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By Nicholas Samaras
What is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
By Elizabeth Acevedo
Rob, my heart is a peeled clementine and I don't wince
anymore when you stick your thumb in the hollow middle,
pull apart. You don't even swallow these pieces
By Tim Seibles
There are days I believe there ain' nothing to fear
I perk up for green lights, my engine on call
But it could be the zombies are already near
By Rachel McKibbens
The Mad Girls climb the wet hill,
breathe the sharp air through sick-green lungs.
The Wildest One wanders off like an old cow
By Melanie Graham
She appears again, 2-year-old riding her hip,
grief so great he can see through her birkha, past Qualaday,
into the kitchen, his mother nurturing chicken
in popping grease.
By Reginald Harris
walk long enough
with a pebble in your shoe
and walking with a pebble becomes
normal
By Rashida James-Saadiya
we scatter
dodge words that rip into flesh
hide from clenched fist
By Patricia Monaghan
After the nightly news and four martinis
he quietly begins to draw the inner workings
of the bomb, knowing the explosion needed
By Jeffrey McDaniel
On the red-eye from Seattle, a two-year-old
in the seat behind me screeches
his miniature guts out.
By Fady Joudah
When the shooting began
Everyone ran to the trucks
Grabbed whatever their backs needed
And made for the trucks