Poetry

Child of Reagan, what if the Russian boogeyman / is my blood?

when I grow up I will be God / of Cooking, grow / up will be Saint of Gambling / be Tricks Expert, tough

By Nicholas Wong

Some people love like they believe the romantic / folklore about the moon, but they love too literally / from inside a spacesuit.

By Cheng Tim Tim

There are so many ways of breaking.

By Tammy Lai-Ming Ho

My mother’s eyes are dry but tears / sometimes find their way there. / The woman selling dead seafood keeps / wetting the lobsters with ice water / near the shore where tourists cheer and wave.

By Noeme Grace C. Tabor-Farjani

Memories are jumping out of the baggage. I have not even arrived yet nor have I left.

people swam up windows, waiting for rain, and / occasionally knocked on one another’s doors / holding boxes of citrus fruits—sirens inside / sage-green paper.