Issue 157

Winter & Spring 2020

Image from Unearthing I, II, III

Poetry Anzhelina Polonskaya Poetry Anzhelina Polonskaya

Burn

Translated from Russian by Andrew Watchel

For the earth, what’s a body
but an excuse to cover
and hide leaves, snows
and forgetting beneath a veil?

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Poetry J. Estanislao Lopez Poetry J. Estanislao Lopez

The Contract

He had shaken my hand earlier on the jobsite,
but now would not pay my father for our work.

Through the truck’s open window, my right ear
caught the rolling steel of a passing train, whistle

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Poetry James Armstrong Poetry James Armstrong

Sputnik

I was born the month the Russian moon

crossed the night sky beeping

like a frenetic alarm,

America still yawning

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Poetry J. Estanislao Lopez Poetry J. Estanislao Lopez

Constants

The universe is littered with them, strange discoveries
named like the bridges they are, suspended by braids

of integrals. The integrity of a relationship
can be measured, too. Most arc toward disintegration.

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Poetry Aurielle Marie Poetry Aurielle Marie

filé

our blood thickens
in the porous swell

of august. this is the kind of summer we tend
to with impatience. the kind of summer we tend

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Poetry Aurielle Marie Poetry Aurielle Marie

adamsville

don’t hold me, don’t hold me when niggas is dying
— NoName


so, here’s the truth:
Black as ever.

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Poetry Ed Roberson Poetry Ed Roberson

Given a Song: Ghost Dance

The floor nurse was not floating in mid air

she informed me with her title her name though

was nonlocal her words were carried from where I knew

but were colored with a music like her skin

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Poetry Rohan Chhetri Poetry Rohan Chhetri

Father, Farther: 1986

“feed him the land, that is what they’re fighting for…”

Evening raid on a day I don’t exist yet
It is hot as a crucible my grandfather dragged
out of the house arrested for possessing

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Poetry Angela Jackson Poetry Angela Jackson

Bellwether

She sits at the kitchen table and looks right

Out the kitchen window at the tree moving.

Branches, leaves moving. That’s how she knows

What kind of day it is. The tree tells wind,

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Poetry Angela Jackson Poetry Angela Jackson

Providence

Life was eternal on that Black block.

On the corner stood the steeple of our church.

The taste of life lingers like grape gum.

I braved the street car lined avenue for the store.

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Poetry Ed Roberson Poetry Ed Roberson

How

how I'd go to write the next word I'd figured out

and the tablet wasn't there

and I'd have to hold the word and stagger

room to room to find what I was working on

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Poetry Ed Roberson Poetry Ed Roberson

Night Voice

the ceiling closes.
tightening circle—

ice forming on a pond.
once it can be walked day breaks

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