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Minal Hajratwala

‘I am broken by the revolt exploding inside me’

By Minal Hajratwala Your rage is pomegranates spilling open on ice, is the flute’s thin silver seam, is a volcano spitting rivulets of fire to wash clean these corrupt lands.
Vincent Toro

Vox Populi for the Marooned

By Vincent Toro Like a charm of goldfinches we will gather. We will gather at the sea
crest and inside toppled cubicles, drawing upon this horizon of shady
treaties and chemical weapons depots as if cajoled toward the coast
Zeina Hashem Beck

Naming Things

By Zeina Hashem Beck Zeina Hashem Beck performs the poem "Naming Things" at the 2016 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Jen Hofer

conditions

By Jen Hofer what dateless body what we exacted or nixed or hexed in the eternal present of not being able to – what not being able to not be considered garbage or trashed by the bag
Gowri Koneswaran

How To Enjoy Your Vacation To A Country That Says It Won The War

By Gowri Koneswaran ★ While planning your journey, accept that ethics are not included in the price of your ticket;
★ Tell yourself your currency is helping the country;
★ Do not question government control of the tourism industry;
Luis Alberto Ambroggio

Enough!

By Luis Alberto Ambroggio Poetry might never have seen
that categorical word,
but in its charged belligerence
of emotions and in its profound determination,
Heather Derr-Smith

Iraqi-Style Fish Shop, Damascus

By Heather Derr-Smith The fish are opened up like salad bowls,
Slid between the metal bars of baskets,
Roasted in the wood-fired ovens, Iraqi style.
The flesh glows as if it were made of glass.
Marci Calabretta Cancio-Bello

Above the Thin Shell of the World

By Marci Calabretta Cancio-Bello I fell in love with a North Korean
by falling asleep on his shoulder
in a South Korean subway.
Jennifer Maritza McCauley

Old Blood

By Jennifer Maritza McCauley Before they tell us how to look
at our kilt brothers' bodies:

Tell them we already know how to see ‘em.

The Curfew

By Radhia Chehaibi I’m alone as usual
but the city is unusually alone.
I watch over its wilderness out of my window.
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