by Manash Firaq Bhattacharjee

This war shall not leave us,
It will chase us from city to city,
From country to country

by Aramis Calderon

My pocketknife is named
Control.

by Ana Doina

My parents were stunned into a blank stare
by the numbers.

by Tatiana Dolgushina

I feel there is inside of me the entire history
of a Soviet century, all of its people

by Kate Falvey

There are children born with your name
that you left too soon to know.

by Milica Mijatović

If you’re quiet enough, you can almost hear nothing

by Adnan Adam Onart

Just to get started,
I place a boy, face powdered in dust,
in front of a dilapidated building

by Ron Riekki

Statement in support of claim of
death. The downloadable pdf
is available for your headaches.

by Ayşe Tekşen

The poem writes itself,
but I’m the one who creates

by Nancy White

swallow smoke from a burning home
say the name they were going to give
you till you were born a girl

by Ellen June Wright

I hope when I hear of my mother’s death
I can wail Hold on my child joy comes in the morning