American Inheritance

No one / is dancing, Thao.

Rice in Three Different Stages ~ poems by Melina Kritikopoulos

Harvested only a few weeks ago. / Slumped over and exhausted, grain / Lay upon grain, shivering in the / Nakedness of the woven plastic bag

on being chị hai ~ a poem by Kimberly Nguyễn

i am the eldest daughter of an eldest daughter of an eldest daughter

Native Tongue ~ a poem by Leanne Talavera

Native is the color of my American tongue. The color of ashen / moon dust, crisp with pink around the edges. When I kiss with it, / love with it, it tastes of toasted coconut.

Two Poems by Leon Barros

LISTEN · to the brume breathing boon and reaches · / looms and lingers low in the valley · where the / world-roof willows · spins its silver · scatters silence ·

Two Poems by Khải Đơn

I couldn't find grandpa’s grave after a deep-water season. Water filled like a mirror, bemused / like a candid child. Grandpa said fishermen grew by water, died of water, and turned into water.