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June 24, 2015 |
in Fiction |
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Edith walked into the office reception area, lowered her reading glasses, and gave both girls a look. Laurie saw herself through Edith’s eyes: small, too tight khaki mini-skirt, red hair...
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June 23, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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North: after the storm, all dust hung up in the crowded air, with his human face frozen into a dot of dust and a rising speckle of dust melted into his face to avoid this cold climate of...
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April 27, 2015 |
in Art & Photography |
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Lance Johnson is a mixed media artist born and raised in NY. As a young man raised in the Golden Age of Hip Hop, Johnson fell in love with art when he was introduced to the work of a...
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April 19, 2015 |
in Fiction |
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When she first saw him, Becky was heading into the 7-11 on Harper Avenue to buy a Slurpee, Twizzlers, and a pack of Camels. He was smoking. Vapor drifted from his lips as he leaned into the...
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April 19, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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Use with permission by Jasmine. An author, performer, poet, teacher…yes to all of those titles, but more importantly Jasmine Mans is an artist…an artist who enjoys having...
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January 12, 2015 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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In third grade, I sat at a blue metal table outside on the blacktop. An older boy at the next table over said to me, “Your hair looks greasy.” I don’t even remember his name, but I...
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January 11, 2015 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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Sometimes little girls go topless in the warmth of the summer afternoon sun. There was no sense of embarrassment brought on by exposing our bare flat chests. Traffic didn’t stop, no one...
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January 9, 2015 |
in Art & Photography |
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Born in Lowell, Massachusetts, Carole Kaufmann has traveled extensively throughout Europe and the Far East as is evident in her paintings and drawings which evoke her fascination with...
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January 6, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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I go right through that opening, pulled by the howls. The stars shine like hooks over the flat land. In the dark a cactus touches my arm. What did I do? What have I been Before? Got up from...
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January 5, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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1 Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun shacks, where the road loses its way to dirt and live oaks and all along the way ancient cypress, but we’d play deep in the swamp, where Collins...
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January 4, 2015 |
in Fiction |
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Before today, it had never really occurred to me that cousin Emily was a normal person. No; that sounds wrong. She was too normal, that was the problem: a middle-aged woman with...
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January 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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My mother one afternoon in a cowboy hat, sitting on a Texan bench of hay. Me in the same configuration of time, space, & cowboy hat. The memory in my brain like a boulder in a haystack,...
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January 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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The gew-gaws of false amber and false turquoise attract them. “Like to like nature”: these agglutinous yellows!—Ezra Pound, from “Women Before A...
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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When she was born, they said, You are small. Remember this. Feel these safety pins anchoring our strings in your palms. She said, So far, I’m just watching. When she began to walk, they...
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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When The Primordial Mother comes knocking on your door trying to convert you to her religion and you look through the peep hole but pretend you’re not home, millions of stars burn out....
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Ana Flores is a sculptor and ecologist. Her work is informed by how pla
2 Poems
Let Me Straddle Your Mind
The Crusader
Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back
it was important to me
Kwame Dawes
1
Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun
shacks, where the road loses its way
to dirt and live 
[new_royalslider id="11"]
Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to lea
Junot' Diaz
and Edison, NJ
The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no on
Elegy & Poem
"We are all the other."
…and find inside a picture,
of myself as a child, sitting
on a small chair, wearing overalls
an
Raphael Perez
To Alex, on turning two
Some say the Ring of Brogar
is the Circle of the Moon.
There is n
March on Washington
An Interview with Cheryl Evans
In a strange twist of what seemed
like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti
Mecca was painted over. 
Forest Gander
A Translation
Quassan Castro, poem
Grandson to Grandmother
Wynwood Walls, of Miami has been called "a Museum of the Streets."
Low like the mean dream
of Newark the sky must
have seemed to its builders.
Rickety now, unhingin
At last, the extremes
of his present methods
seemed to offer
the happiest avenues.
The strengthe
5th Limb
Poems
Poem, Knot
Poem, Look This Way
Xue Du, Poem
A woman in a black kimono dyed black hair
disappeared behind a black curtai
Poem:
Behind the War On Women
Maria Mizzotti-Gillan
Short Story
Pilar Fraile Amador
poem
Lady Haiti
David Trinidad
Landzy Theodore
Angelo Nikolopoulos
