DIPIKA MUKHERJEE In Itaparica, the beach broods / under ruddy sky. Two fishermen / and I search waves spitting / shells: ribbed green, a crown / for a queen; a conch; an obelisk; / a whorled shell; a thin swell / pink modica of a disc.
GLENN DIAZ Abroad, I’ve encountered people whose idea of Manila is a violent, lawless place where people openly carry guns and eat dogs and sing videoke all day long. Only one of the three is true (although the Duterte regime, like good authoritarian regimes do, has mastered the art of making lawlessness seem perfectly legal and above-board).
ADAM SCHEFFLER A poem can’t tell you what it’s like / to be 83 and seven hours deep / into a Christmas Eve shift / at Walmart, cajoling / beeps from objects like the secret / name each of us will never / be sweetly called, can’t show / you her face and eyes like the