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Kevin McLellan The blur of
Marie-Elizabeth Mali Balancing on crutches in the shallows
near her mother, a girl missing her right lower leg
swings her body and falls, laughing.
Franny Choi How'd you get so slice?
Razor pinch all flat-like? All puff
& sting? What's your allergy?
Naomi Ayala Two blocks away
where yellow cabs
zip by without stopping
Denise Bergman She is a neighbor a building away, we talk weather and potholes, exchange
names Mary same as her daughter or is she Marissa or Maria I was distracted
her nephew was chewing the leg of his doll and the day was disappearing before
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,
Richard Blanco The Gulf Motel with mermaid lampposts
and ship's wheel in the lobby should still be
rising out of the sand like a cake decoration.
María Luisa Arroyo Mami called us away from the roach trap line
where novice factory workers, fresh from the island,
and I, fresh from Germany, poked
Marie-Elizabeth Mali Pulling out of Union Square station, the subway
sounds the first three notes of There's a place for us,
somewhere a place for us. A woman sits on me, shoves
Naomi Ayala And now, where the moon
rose behind here,
three stories loom—