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Aideed Medina De piedra, sangre.
I make my own heaven. I drag it out of the streets, and inhospitable terrains. I mixed "tabique", brick, mortar with my hands, kneading,
I need, to make my own heaven
Jessica (Tyner) Mehta Conductor drives us, the cow-
catcher barreling straight into the teeth
of Memory’s harshest winter.
Jennifer Foerster The war appeared to be coming to an end.
The no-name people not yet taken
left their crops for summer’s drought.
Tobias Wray Once done,
my father pulled
the instrument apart.
Lisbeth White At the end of the field are tracks
train metal iron sound called whistle
to me a blare that splits air before it
Leticia Hernández-Linares Tus pómulos, the historic shape of your
temporal bones imitating the pirámides we carry, beating
blueprints inside of our lungs, stencil the heart
with the angles of the architecture we were born in.
Janice Lobo Sapigao we don’t know how to pay the bills on time
and we don’t know the password to your bank account
& in all of our languages I understand why you stacked
linens and face towels and rubber bands and plastic bags
in drawers and hallway closets
everything filled to the brim
leilani portillo when i say
the land is my
Trevino L. Brings Plenty Arms, face, scrotum – dark brown.
The kind of brown to drive
monsters to exterminate
bison to starve
Safia Elhillo i sat by the lake & ate five tiny oranges & every strand
of flesh & pith was my teacher
i grew warm & soft in the sun & from this ripening
made a poem to search for my teacher