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April 5, 2022 |
in Art & Photography |
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Mary Chang was born in Manhattan and raised in the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn, where she currently lives. She attended the School of Visual Arts and has worked with Master printers...
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March 27, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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In a tin canof breathingsardinesshe sat hunched in the wake of lightjust to slitherinto the airof rust eating awayevery moleculeof breath sheowned and body she wishedshe ownedto...
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February 24, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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As real as Santa or the Easter Bunnywhenever my mother muttered your name.Your father’s late for dinner again!Bet he’s with his girlfriend...Esmeralda. She tossed salad in her...
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February 16, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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In afternoon summerlight you undid my belt with your teeth and I aswoon thought me trothed Later that night you were one of scores lining...
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February 15, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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leaves light green sway wayward light...
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February 2, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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you can never not see a bird in your house. Every rustling paper, every curtain twisting in a breeze, every shadow on a ceiling is a frantic, fluttering bird. One winter we had...
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January 25, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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THE THIRD ROCK from somewhere up looks like an abstract work of art— splashes of blue pacific waters & blurred lands smeared by cirrus. when one stays there for a...
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January 25, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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You’ve been light-year fast-balling your fire my wayfor billions of years. And I’m out here in the mundane darkthrowing a hard chunk of Planet Earth right back at you.Not trying to...
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January 25, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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If not restoring the cat’s order, if not coffee for two, who am I, what do I desire? Walking alone on the beach, Claire wants to etymologize— but she’s got mere seconds to coin the...
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January 11, 2022 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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The funeral home was in an old farmhouse that had become an island within Northern Virginia’s ever-growing exurbs. When I saw it, I knew Mom would have loved it—that mattered to me...
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December 3, 2021 |
in Poetry |
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Never seen one out here before, so close to the road, flying off the mossy rocks– angles and intent. Morgan Bazilian is a poet and Professor of quantum mechanics...
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November 30, 2021 |
in Poetry |
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One evening I thought to save the azaleas along my back fence. Unraveled livid green vines from their choked branches. Next day I found a dime-wide blood-bloom on my left side,...
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October 11, 2021 |
in Poetry |
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of the universe some remnant of prayer shawl, Kippah, candle. Vestment, nun’s habit, incense. The moon can eclipse the sun, the moon’s red and the red beads around grandmother’s neck...
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September 30, 2021 |
in Poetry |
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“…Speak to me. Take my hand. I will tell you all. I will conceal nothing…Fist my mind in your hand. What are you now?…” -from Effort at Speech Between Two People by Muriel...
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June 3, 2021 |
in Poetry |
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STÖRRISCH My art teacher once said “The clay is as it was born” And I think of my mother Her spine cradled me into this I accepted welcoming like a common burdock...