By Leila Chatti
If you had asked me, thirteen, what I wantedto be one day, I wouldn’t have said it.
Hidden in a dim stall as the muezzin calledall worshipers to prayer, I touched privatelythe indelible stain.
Christmas, flew home packaged like a gift. Beneath my jeans a childlike padding. Came to adore the wee god, his dolorous mother.
The summer after, a stormsplit the sky over Hergla and I wanted to be in it.
By Sara Eliza Johnson
When my body blew openthe shadow-glass cloudgalloped through me, glittered
By Amy Woolard
I was asked to show up with a side dish. I madeA slaw of my longing. I had to keep it crisp. Nothing goes
Bad in a backyard, if you catch my drift. In aBackyard everything is available like a catalog
The peonies are popping! A fist that is also a kettle that is alsoA pact petals made with whatever cabal of bees decides to stick
Around. Let’s all us shake on it. Ah, these lungs of mine the perfectEmergency orange of extension cord coil. All my breathing is
By Kaveh Akbar
My reward for waking: close wallsand limestone dust, spitevaporating from my tongue. First
I count and recountmy toes, throw out grainfor the carp, snatch a femur
By Mai Der Vang
Chambers fall to splinter gravel.Leaf grows from my throat.
Walls forsake the crumpled groundIt is meant to hold up.
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I press my hand to your sleep.
Then I find your spent head under smallwhirling tresses
having digested the clatterof car horns, children
bustling into sweet shops.