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M. F. Simone Roberts

Helicopter: A Demilitarization

By M. F. Simone Roberts Begin with da Vinci’s hybrid
of spring and top, of wood and iron,
and completely non-aerodynamic,
then crystallize the blue of the lagoon
Terisa Siagatonu

The Day After American Samoa Is Under Water

By Terisa Siagatonu The evening news helicopters compete for the best camera angle
above the water, fighting to find anything worthy of coverage.

A floating high chief. A baby’s arm flattened by a coconut tree. Anything.
Even the Titanic was enormous enough to leave remnants of itself
Sherwin Bitsui

from Dissolve

By Sherwin Bitsui Father's dying ceased
when he refunded this ours
for fused hands plaster-coated
M. Soledad Caballero

After the Election: A Father Speaks to His Son

By M. Soledad Caballero He says, they will not take us.
They want the ones who love
another god, the ones whose
joy comes with five prayers and
Paulette Beete

Still Life with Bullets

By Paulette Beete Orlando Jones, a black actor, douses himself
in a bucket of bullets. I flinch. Bullet against
brown skin even without the bruised and
busted aftermath is no easy thing to bear.
Sharon Olds

Calvinist Parents

By Sharon Olds They put roofs over our heads.
Ours was made of bent tiles,
so the edge of the roof had a broken look,
Dan Vera

Abecedarian Yellow

By Dan Vera A is for apple.
B is for banana – treasure fruit of the tropics
which replaced the apple on the breakfast table of Victorian America.
C is for Carmen Miranda smiling
Camille T. Dungy

Frequently Asked Questions: #7

By Camille T. Dungy Is it difficult to get away from it all once you've had a child?



I am swaying in the galley — working

to appease this infant who is not



fussing but will be fussing if I don't move —
Solmaz Sharif

Dear INTELLIGENCE JOURNAL,

By Solmaz Sharif Lovely dinner party. Darling CASUALTIES and lean
sirloin DAMAGE of the COLLATERAL sort.
Extended my LETTER OF OFFER AND ACCEPTANCE
to the DESIRED INTERNAL AUDIENCE, reaching
Ilya Kaminsky

That Map of Bone and Opened Valves

By Ilya Kaminsky I watched a sergeant aim, the deaf boy take iron and fire in his mouth—
his face on the asphalt,
that map of bone and opened valves.
It’s the air. Something in the air wants us too much
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