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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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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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October 25, 2020 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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From under the awning, I could hear a sound like small fragmenting pieces of stone crashing into the window. The rain was starting to pour down from above; listening to it for a moment, I...
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December 26, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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COUNTING EVERY PETAL The ground is finally bare, the snow vanished into it as if it had not smothered the world for months. It might wrap its shroud around us again. We...
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November 23, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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MILK Milk arrives like a blessing in my dreams— blue-white as a glacial waterfall from a far-off thaw. In my most joyous dream, a precious rare appearance, I am old—old as...
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November 16, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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When a beloved dies, we gather like elephants to mourn the bones touching each foot ankle, femur, rib, vertebrae, shoulder, stroking the pelvis, jaw, cranium, moving each one separately...
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January 15, 2019 |
in Fiction |
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On the one year anniversary of Allison’s assault, the garbage man—he preferred this title to “sanitation worker”— saw, as he was emptying a trash can into the dump bed of the...
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March 16, 2018 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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“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!...
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March 15, 2018 |
in Poetry |
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AS A GHOST I’LL MAKE SURE THAT YOU’LL KEEP ON RUNNING INTO ME BACK AND FORTH, IN SOME SHAPE AND FORM WE WILL BE…” I think she was hoping he was really a gardener....
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March 15, 2018 |
in Poetry |
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I love the rain when the rain fills the river, when the rain fills the river, and the river starts to run, and the willow branches read the braille of raindrops on the surface, and ducks,...
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January 30, 2018 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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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...
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January 30, 2018 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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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...
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January 2, 2018 |
in Poetry |
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SHRINKING ISLAND (Assateague) Looking Inland, beneath A rising vapor of cumulous, An agony of trees. Beyond the killing tide, Low dunes. Here, The mosquito is queen, The island a...
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July 12, 2017 |
in Poetry |
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FOR A FRACKING GOOD TIME There is a general consensus among scientists that the spike in Oklahoma’s earthquake activity has been triggered by disposal wells used to dispose of waste from...
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June 25, 2017 |
in Poetry |
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Carry me waking across the world where, in Nice, strawberries ripen in a wooden cart. The morning yawns azure beyond the fruit sellers. The Mediterranean beckons to fishermen & stones....
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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
