The Double Dealer is back in the hospital. He stands at attention in his three-piece suit, waiting to greet the incoming staff. I’m his favorite nurse because my name starts with D.—From “Therapeutic Recreation” Summer 2018 (Volume 59, Issue 2) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.The very first story . . .
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“In 1960s Paris, racism to many new expatriates may have seemed nonexistent. Graffiti in several Left Bank metro stations, however, stubbornly indicated otherwise: À BAS LES NÈGRESJUIFS DÈHORSMORT AUX ARABES(Down with Negroes, Oust the Jews, Death to the Arabs) Somebody was busy.”—from “Down with Negroes!…And Others,” Summer 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 2) Tell . . .
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“Shamsie condemns Britain’s rising xenophobia and ideas about British purity, but also trumpets London’s convivial diversity, replete as her fictionalization of the city is with Iranian neighbors, Scottish political assistants, and Latin American bodyguards. Despite her focus on acts of terror, this is a quiet, reflective novel, preoccupied by sound yet out . . .
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Photo: A new piece, which is a bit of a “redraw” on the “intimacy is hell” piece (featured in Summer 2018, Volume 59, Issue 2). Every year Abareshi chooses a piece from the previous year to reimagine, “just to sort of see my own changes.” Tell us about one of the first . . .
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Des Plaines, Illinois: Acre of river. River of silver un-grief. River who alibied out. Who is not talking. Of methodical defrost.—from “Bruise Music,” Spring 2018 (Vol.59, Issue 1) Tell . . .
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“Curses are different from cusses or swears, though they often merge. A curse calls down evil on someone, circumstance, or thing: “God damn you/it!” A swear is an insult, comparing someone or thing to an animal in regard to stupidity, loveless sex, and lack of spirit or reason, or to a body . . .
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The goddess Bensaiten appeared to me in a tree. I was in the city park, eating meat on a stick, and then there was a noise like doves and when I looked up to see what was touching my head she was there. She looked down at me from among the white . . .
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Yes, I bought you a wedding dress big enough for the two of usAnd in the taxi homewe kiss a coin from your mouth to mine.—from “Of Weddings,” Spring 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 1) We asked poet Ilya Kaminsky the same ten questions we ask our other contributors. He responded with nine of . . .
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Artist Amy Johnquest contributed the cover art and portfolio from her collection Adopted Ancestors, A Family Album (Volume 59, Issue 1, Spring 2018). Tell us about one of the first pieces you created.I’m almost sixty years old so by “first pieces” I’m figuring you’re talking about the hand painted Victorian cabinet cards like the . . .
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Outside I saw the flagstones moving like heads in a Picasso painting—black beetles for eyes. The space unpeopled yet so alive.The sky torn off but still dusted with clouds.My father died in his bed—silent and cooling like the steel kettle my mother used for tea. —from “At the Open House,” Spring 2018 . . .
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