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												By emet ezell
												i bought her a shitty ass chicken sandwich.
$18.59 and dripping with oil—
my grandmother. she blessed
the meal for ten minutes before
taking a bite. poured out devotion like
gasoline. like pepsi cola. we knew then
that she was dying, but i lived
in the first paragraph, unprepared.
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Sunu P. Chandy
												At the shiny stones and rocks booth, I am unusually patient. I even consider spending a few dollars on a few pebbles. She seemed to sense that, without me saying a word, and I could feel her heart smile.
And then in one instant, everything changed. Looking toward the cashier, she saw, just hanging out there on the wall, real guns in real life.
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Liza Sparks
												When a ponderosa pine
is over one hundred—
it sheds a layer of bark.
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Nathan Spoon
												You are living inside the cup of another life. Water
is running slowly. Somewhere a hand is overflowing
with the abundance and celebration denizens dream of.
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Destiny Hemphill
												listen.
it’s in, not at. in the whistle & hiss, the steam of your breath as you chant
 we ready (we ready), we comin (we comin) atop of a jail
building in ruins. yes, it’s in your breath & in the never dwindling 
kindle of your fingertips as you reach out & touch
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Noor Ibn Najam
												to become earth’s sugar, to be a seedless
orange offered. to want fruit
to unwind from the concept of sex
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Justice Ameer
												/ he asks me how it feels /
it’s no simple curiosity
nor a question without consequence 
phantom of longing lingers so 
subtly on the last syllable
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Ching-In Chen
												My people – I see you across street, porch people, huddled under brick archway, watching what pours from sky. Wading in water, what circuits it carries – mostly numb, small, what might feel like circuit’s end.
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Gabriel Ramirez
												I gotta call my barber Eric to
let him know I’m pullin’ up. Yo hello?
Yea yea who this? ahhhh yo what up homie?
How you been kid?
											
											
										 
									 
								 
								
								
								
								
								
							
								
									
									
										
																						
											
											 
											
											
																					
										
											
											
												By Baruch Porras-Hernandez
												at the movies    my eye      on the Exit sign
on the aisles    the doorways     the space
between the seat in front of me and my legs
how far could I crawl
before I die?