The Borders Are Fluid Within Us
By Dan VeraThis is what is feared:
that flags do not nourish the blood,
that history is not glorious or truthful.
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‘N’em
By Jericho BrownThey said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid
Things I Carried Coming Into the World
By Remica L. BinghamThe weight of my parents,
the dawn of them;
my grandmother's lackluster
Manistee Lights
By Samiya BashirBrother I don't either understand this
skipscrapple world that is--these
slick bubble cars zip feverish down
Looking for The Gulf Motel
By Richard BlancoThe Gulf Motel with mermaid lampposts
and ship's wheel in the lobby should still be
rising out of the sand like a cake decoration.
Here Were Buried
By Adam Wiedewitschin blue earth, among willows, aisles
of box-elder, elms, in the silence between
on the sand-bar in front
The Sign
By Jonathan B. Tuckerpardon our appearance
as we grow to better serve you
says the sign on the fence
barreras
By María Luisa ArroyoMami called us away from the roach trap line
where novice factory workers, fresh from the island,
and I, fresh from Germany, poked
Mess Hall
By Solmaz SharifYour knives tip down
in the dish rack
of the replica plantation home
Split
By Cathy Linh CheI see my mother at thirteen
in a village so small,
it's never given a name.