Mo(u)rning Poem
By Katherine E. YoungThis is the poem meant for this mo(u)rning,
now the winds have died down,
the dogwood’s unclenched its frightened fists,
and the morning’s calling
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Quartering
By Seema RezaWhen the soldier knocks on your door, billet book in hand, move aside
to let him enter. He will wipe his feet, remove his hat
(you’ll learn to call it a cover)
he will be polite, place his rifle by the door
Dear INTELLIGENCE JOURNAL,
By Solmaz SharifLovely 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
That Map of Bone and Opened Valves
By Ilya KaminskyI 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
Witnesses
By Ellen BassToday is gray, drizzling,
but not enough for drops to pool
on the tips of the silver needles
or soak the bark of the pines at Ponary—
Death Valley, California
By Jeneva Stoneclose to the Nevada border salt
flats dry beds octagonal or hexed
one constant the wind another
dryness the two wicked all away
Gas
By Sarah BrowningAfter the great snow of 2016, my car sits
locked in icy drifts a week, green fossil
of the oil age preserved in graying amber.
Water & Salt
By Lena Khalaf TuffahaBehind the walls of your jails we wait
heartbeats audible now, muffled thuds
above the current of blood running thin
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Distance
By Ruth Irupé SanabriaMy grandfather asked me: could I remember
him, the park, the birds, the bread?
I’ll be dying soon, he said.