By Vikki C.

The last autumn of touch was given mutely,

burnished notes dripping their damp vowels.

We were forbidden from bringing the outside in.

By Chitra Kalyani

You would change homes, names, countries, religions, genders, tongues, species -

If only that would unmake it all.

you cannot stand it, cannot stand,

   can not

By Courtney Cikach

I’ve been trying to save

The little things lately

The sapling I snapped near in two

From stepping too hastily,

Now bound with twine and hope

By Rachel Turney

But in the end, she is standing all alone, so deeply unsatisfied.

When he was learning Japanese, his eyes were always down on pages. His fingers gripping a pen. He was learning how to read and write in a way that would even further separate them.

By Douglas Thornton

In a closed valley

Walking to the south;

Loud wind in the air

By Özge Lena

A sharp moon blues the Bosphorus.

I stand on the dark edge

of one of Istanbul's seven hills,

and the city lies beneath me

like an electrified phoenix.

By Eli Rodriguez Fielder

the last map drawn by hand

was sent to me by the last artist to use paper

and I found the last pencil

to make the last annotation

By Jade Bailey Brock

I don’t read the news anymore. Up north, they have this phrase for people like us: tammaqtutit uppirusukkavit nalligijaunnginnirnik?—do you mistakenly believe you’re not loved? All those letters crowding out the spaces where the seers used to go.

By Athena Melliar

Aeolou is a street leading to the Acropolis of Athens.

Aeolou is a road to the Athenian citadel, like a safe harbourage offering to a stranger looking

rather familiar — Τίνος είσαι εσύ;

By Matt Hetherington

then they mourned her like a suicide

then they sent her to the forests

By David Koehn

I am alone in my study at Tydeman’s in Rijnsburg.

This dialogue between us spares the guilty,

Unbroken fire hydrants on both sides of the Seine,

The identity of the people who betrayed us,

By Asim Mudgal

Sounds of the distant voice, utensils clattering, water flushing out in the sewer are

possessing my rented room.

In this, I am caught up in the directions

Of east or west, north or south.

By Laurence Lilvik

We’re not asking you to understand. Not begging you to be the goldfish. We’re not a willow in a field, or the groundwater it signifies.