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Poetry – Fall 2014


mother, the banyan spreading
a colony of tarantulas through her bones

Letter from Nabila Rehman to Trayvon Martin

They will call us collateral
for someone else’s
safe sleeping.

Sly Smile

“Don’t give them money, it goes to the mob!”
Yes, dark criminalizes here,


Measures of salt seep from orgasmic arch
Sufi foot taps echo in New Delhi slum

The Prayer

One crow, then more, in the pebbled courtyard.
New voices join in, here’s to dawn, to dawn;

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