THE NINE
By Tara HardyThey call it dissociation.
I call it THE NINE (children)
who live inside me.
Each of them encased
in amber, frozen in a mosquito-pose
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Waiting for a Greyhound Bus at the Los Angeles Station
By Cynthia GuardadoA black woman stands with two toddlers hanging off her hips.
Her balance is perfect as she pushes her luggage with one leg,
the boys curl into her shoulders unaware of how
they all slide forward. I offer her my help. Her face is serious
Invocation
By Everett HoaglandArchitect of icebergs, snowflakes,
crystals, rainbows, sand grains, dust motes, atoms.
Mason whose tools are glaciers, rain, rivers, ocean.
Chemist who made blood
Almost Midnight
By Deborah A. MirandaWife and dogs have gone to bed.
I sit here with the front door open.
Crickets sing patiently, a long lullaby
in lazy harmony. Rain falls
Prababushka
By Tanya Papernyclick on a live stream
of a memorial event
to commemorate victims
of Soviet terror
Helicopter: A Demilitarization
By M. F. Simone RobertsBegin with da Vinci’s hybrid
of spring and top, of wood and iron,
and completely non-aerodynamic,
then crystallize the blue of the lagoon
to my shaking hands
By Ella Jaya Sranto the screams.
to the glass-shattering pleas for life
that no one but they can hear.
to the wooden desks that were my sanctuary
We are not reconciled to the oppressors who whet their howl on our grief.
By Danielle BadraWe are not born to be barons of wealth. We
are soft spoken wordsmiths, not soldiers. We are
not broken by hardship or hate. We are not
In Translation
By Elizabeth AcevedoMy mouth cannot write you a white flag.
It will never be a Bible verse.
My mouth cannot be shaped into the apology