Michael Flanagan

Larry died. He'd been going to the center

for mentally disabled adults where I work

for almost ten years. He was a decent man

of sixty, always thirsty from the meds

he had to take, willing to steal any drink

left alone for even a single moment, but

. . .

Sushmita Mazumdar

Every time one of the auto’s

three small wheels hit a pothole

dirty water splashed in—

splashed her leg

. . .