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Allison Adelle Hedge Coke

First Morning Poem

By Allison Adelle Hedge Coke In a room facing chimneys
over the place Nancy Morejón rests
between sleeps lining free lines
she whispers to hearing DC:
Abdul Ali

Amistad

By Abdul Ali My father and I run into each other at the edge of Lower Manhattan,
World Trade Center, where there’s a movie house.

We tiptoe down the slope, making our way to our seats.
Joseph O. Legaspi

Amphibians

By Joseph O. Legaspi Amphibians live in both.

Immigrants leave their land,
hardening in the sea.

Out of water.
Chen Chen

Set the Garden on Fire

By Chen Chen My friend’s new neighbors in the suburbs
are planting a neat row of roses
between her house & theirs.
Ross Gay

To the Fig Tree on 9th and Christian

By Ross Gay Tumbling through the
city in my
mind without once
looking up
Linda Hogan

Song for the Turtles in the Gulf

By Linda Hogan We had been together so very long,
you willing to swim with me
just last month, myself merely small
Ruth Irupé Sanabria

Hija

By Ruth Irupé Sanabria I am the daughter of doves
That disappeared into dust
Hear my pulse whisper:

Bulletproof

By Sue D. Burton Today it’s Hopkins and his obscure spiritual contraptions –
everything I read is heart-corseted, like a concealable vest,
police surplus good as new. Some fanatic is packing a gun.

Above Average

By Lindsay Vaughn Women who are not ready we have our own ways

we take pills lie in our lovers’ beds

curled like blades of grass we wait for the writhing wind

that aches and rocks our slender bodies they whisper
Rayna Momen

Temple

By Rayna Momen Unprotected sex is a woman in America.

Unprotected sex is a woman in the world.

My body is my temple and will always be

it is not some place where you go to pray
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