from Italia, fishmonger, anarchist, shook the hand of
and thanked him for everything. I wish to forgive some
people for what
they are now doing to me, said Vanzetti, blindfolded,
to the chair that would shoot two thousand volts
through his body.
—from "I Now Pronounce You Dead," Winter 2017
Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.
I wrote my first poem when I was fifteen. My tenth-grade English teacher asked us to create our own version of The New Yorker. Keep in mind that we were all New Yorkers, but this was a very different New York. We passed the magazine, hand to hand, section by section...