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Poetry
First Fried Chicken at the University of Michigan
Christian Hooper
Poetry
I tore through the Target, Hurricane Hooper hellbent / on proving that his skin was / crisp enough
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{}s of history • crush conference & craft lessons on the moon
Jessica Yuru Zhou
Poetry
At the beginning of my future is me. At the end of my past, also me.
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Mourning — Landscape
Mo Fowler
Poetry
We’ve come to Des Moines for the funeral. Fitting / place: I’ve driven through every time I was leaving home to live / somewhere new.
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Janamaz
Sara Bawany
Poetry
The finest strand of dark green yarn / masquerades itself an accessory / wispy and frayed
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Good Immigrant Girl • Journal
Aline Mello
Poetry
This is how you keep your head down; this is how you thank God for this country: loudly so they hear / you;
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I know I still believe
kyung
Poetry
in people. That whatever gods / I choose, I choose to love
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On the Off Chance I Am Not Alone Forever • What Are The Boys Doing On Their Camping Trip?
Mark Spero
Poetry
I buy an old city bus, which will / whisk me away from this sinkhole I’m circling.
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In the Belly of the Whale
Kate Kastelberg
Poetry
Last night I dreamt of / walking to Auger Beach / at dusk / only to find the tide / too high again:
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notes on anticipation
Amogha
Poetry
In this moment that has come to happen / in other moments, the notes / of birds nestled in my asking.
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Two Poems
Laura Da’
Poetry
The new year begins in winter white embroidery— / trumpeter swans and needle-slim herons piercing / drainage ditches.
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Every Morning I Take a Bus Through the West Bank (II)
Tarik Dobbs
Poetry
Editor’s Pick
As I look out upon a landscape now heavily shaped by American colonialism, I know another world is possible.
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Math Problem with a River
Hua Xi
Poetry
A farmer with a wolf, a goat and a cabbage must cross a river by boat.
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Tributary
W.T. Joshua
Poetry
The year I meet granpa my hands mimic clouds. / Charybdis turning turpid pools / beneath his globes— vision I have awaited.
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Electrician’s Litany
Lynne Ellis
Poetry
The Opera House power vault / blows and knocks out the local grid / on our first day of work together.
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Excerpts from The Work Is Done When We Are Dead
Jade Wallace
Poetry
We don’t know. / Despite thousands of years spent / conceptualizing moralities of power, / theorizing hierarchies / or their abolition…
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