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Marie-Andrée Gill (translated from the French by Kristen Renee Miller)
if you are looking for me, I am home or somewhere on Nitassinan; all my doors and windows are open.        I’m heating the outdoors.

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Book*hug Press

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Sasha taqʷšəblu LaPointe
for me to be a real Indian like the ones in the movies I was going to need to buy a pony...

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Milkweed Editions

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Michael Farrell
He lived before there was an air index He chopped up Latin like a pickled vegetable When he walked under a bird they stopped singing like a light...

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Giramondo Publishing

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Hussain Ahmed
We folded the grief in our pockets. The news got to his mama before we got home. I still expect an angel to knock on our door, before the pain slips away, before we decide who wears his clothes.

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Black Ocean

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Olena Kalytiak Davis
Look, our little tree has taken root, presents its fruit: thirty-six or -seven ombré ways to cherry. Alone (and mute) in the garden I garden, alone in...

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Copper Canyon Press

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Hajjar Baban
There, someone watched me repeat our word for father, so at night, walking home, I wouldn't forget the sound.

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Guernica

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Isabel Zapata (translated from the Spanish by Robin Myers)
A

Archipelago: of Columbus; Galapagos Islands: five main islands, three smaller ones, and 107 islets scattered across the Pacific Ocean, 605 miles to the east of mainland Ecuador.

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Almadía

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Homero Aridjis (translated from the Spanish by George McWhirter)
because there's no need of a shadow and then you might see countryside not as countryside but a fistful of air if only you could cast the horse far behind you and ride on, on yourself

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New Directions

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Max Jacob (translated from the French by Alexander Dickow)
The wild boar that left the trees Has thrown his golden tusks and his fury Tomorrow the nasturtiums will have withered And I will see, Lord, how you are murdered. The northern air has scarred over the wounds.

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Wakefield Press

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Ina Cariño
she still shakes her head at me      says bobo      why are you so stupid                  says I was lucky      to be so close to one      who smells of milk but when milk turns sour      ferments      blooms fetid under the nose                  the only thing to do is pour it      down the drain

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Alice James Book

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