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Zohra Saed

Kandahar

By Zohra Saed Behave or the sleeping Alexander will reclaim your lungs.
Kandahar -
Was once a cube of sugar

Congo

By Lauryn Nesbitt As long as you wake up everyday you should have
no reason to complain, right
i guess if i'm still breathing then i'm not really
Ellen Hagan

Before Your Arrival

By Ellen Hagan the ones who brought your father here, come. Bring
with them whole almonds, dried berries & clementines
wrapped in cloth. Their clothes & smart shoes too.
Purvi Shah

Loss is an art, traversing one world to the next

By Purvi Shah The mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
Meg Eden

factory work: made in china.

By Meg Eden I look for a man's hand inside
the folds of my purse, and find
a pattern that recalls a finger print, the way
Nancy C. Otter

Rios Montt

By Nancy C. Otter The soldier who stopped my father's truck
at the Chiapas border crossing in 1983
might have worked for that man
Deema K. Shehabi

Migrant Earth

By Deema K. Shehabi I could tell you that listening is made for the ashen sky,
and instead of the muezzin's voice, which lingers
like weeping at dawn,
Vanessa Huang

Dear End of Terror,

By Vanessa Huang May you rest
In peace
This night
Alicia Ostriker

Laundry

By Alicia Ostriker Just finished folding laundry. There's the news. A slender prisoner, ankles shackled, nude back and legs striped by a brown substance you might take for blood but which probably is feces, hair long, arms extended at shoulder level like a dancer or like Jesus, walks toward a soldier with rolled-up pants and a gun, posed legs akimbo in the tiled corridor. I cannot say from the image if the soldier is smiling, too few pixels to tell.
Scott Hightower

Rubber Dollie

By Scott Hightower Like a dancer covered in nothing
but white powder, then sponged
with coarse brown makeup;
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