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June 26, 2014 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
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The river is dark and murky. There is no reflection when I lean over the side of the tube. My vanity, though, is ephemeral. I’m too hot in this heavenly wasteland to wear my hair down, to...
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June 23, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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“Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and...
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June 21, 2014 |
in Art & Photography |
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Jamie Risbourg is a New Orleans native. She studied painting and art history at the Savannah College of Art and Design. Inspired by strong Louisiana women, she is dedicated to portraying...
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June 17, 2014 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
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Men and boys have become increasingly violent. Within the last 13 years, all too common is the scenario of a male entering a public place, shooting folks and taking his life or that of...
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June 14, 2014 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
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Tonight I am wishing I were two. I’d like to start all over again, right with the potty training, even, and try to do everything right this time. I remember potty training, believe...
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May 30, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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I might be killed because I’m a Jew visiting a Holocaust museum or going to study Torah. I might be shot or stabbed because I’m a woman and some man feels entitled and deprived...
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April 24, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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You decided, to open up your hand and decorate my cheek with fire. A swift movement across the face. Your mistake: i. not killing me, ii. striking with bloomed digits as if for fashion, or...
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April 23, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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The winter wasn’t that long, really– forty years, you say? Forget it. Move on to spring. We’ve grown with these boulders since they were pebbles pushing the earth,...
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April 23, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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Like this city, she has been everything: best and worst, lost and found, powerful and destitute. Cut her open at the wrist and see what steel bleeds from her. She will rise again....
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April 23, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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So I survived then, didn’t I? In those harsh winter months? I took up stamp collecting. Thinking. Traveling. Why? In harsh winter, months following weather of convertibles and...
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April 22, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
for Julia Garland Murphy, my great-grandmother When my forbears homesteaded northwest Detroit to grow bushels of berries on brambles in fields, grand wagon wheels rutted dirt...
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April 22, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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0
The fledglings, how do they do it? And the new-furred rabbits, emerging from the nest? Something amiss is what the air, electric, must warn the starlings; the rabbits, they leave at...
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April 22, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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This first day of a new year clouds blues skies visible through the melt of smog, a light drift of noxious air smelling of burnt things. We walk the streets, quiet with the serenity of a...
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April 21, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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0
The vein caterpillars up, sucks it down through a glass straw, then we vanish. Its bliss, by the mean of memory can not be resurrected, only performed. Perhaps no different...
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April 14, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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0
When metaphors slide the scalp back to its abyss of bone. When the simile proves like more human than is. When you heard the metal rod striking bone. Yes, it is bone. The palate halved. The...
[new_royalslider id="17"]
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
