-
November 22, 2019 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
My father is on the phone screaming for me not to hang up. He says he is in a Hollywood, Florida hospital where he’s been taken against his will. The reason, I come to understand: He was...
-
January 26, 2019 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
She’s there and not there, a ghost lying on the rug, an apparition sitting by my feet. Maggie, my sixteen-year-old miniature poodle, died two days ago. I see her regal head, her soft...
-
March 16, 2018 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
“Oh I don’t see color… ” Please for the love of god STOP SAYING THAT! YOU DO SEE COLOR!!!! You’re supposed to, as per direct orders from the universe!...
-
January 30, 2018 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
When folk singer Pete Seeger and some friends launched the Clearwater sloop nearly 50 years ago, the Hudson River was a fish-killing open sewer from industries and municipalities along...
-
January 30, 2018 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
One spring Saturday in York County, Pennsylvania, my husband Fred picked up a five-gallon aluminum gas can he’d left on the asphalt by our garage over the winter. I was cleaning out the...
-
June 29, 2015 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
It was my mother who first heard me say it. My mother, whom time and circumstance had never allowed the luxury of the birth control pill, who had planned only one of her five children, who...
-
January 12, 2015 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
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...
-
January 11, 2015 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
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...
-
June 26, 2014 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
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...
-
June 17, 2014 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
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...
-
June 14, 2014 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
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...
-
January 5, 2014 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
As the throng assembles, they note the colorful expressions of each hungry gaze. Rich, vivid, stained like the reds, blues, greens, and purples of the window behind the towering pulpit. In...
-
January 4, 2014 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
The collector of clouds sips tea in his blue penthouse and watches the gathering storms. He’s always on the lookout for funnels. He uses cloud computing to keep track of the shapes. He...
-
November 22, 2013 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
When you are young, you believe in things because you have no reason not to: a fat jolly man riding reindeers across the sky. Sure. A bunny that lays eggs in a basket. Why not? And when...
-
September 20, 2013 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
admininfin8 |
0
In essence, we are all the ‘other’, and when we recognize this the world opens up.–Lori Field Pamela Hughes: Your works are often magical combinations of human and...
[new_royalslider id="17"]
Ana Flores is a sculptor and ecologist. Her work is informed by how place an
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 and 
Kwame Dawes
1
Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun
shacks, where the road loses its way
to dirt and live oaks 
[new_royalslider id="11"]
Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leav
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
and sho
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, unhinging,
I
At last, the extremes
of his present methods
seemed to offer
the happiest avenues.
The strengthening
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 curtain
I
Poem:
Behind the War On Women
Maria Mizzotti-Gillan
Short Story
Pilar Fraile Amador
poem
Lady Haiti
David Trinidad
Landzy Theodore
Angelo Nikolopoulos
