Photo courtesy of the Author Something that makes me fall in love with Gaza even more each day is the unspoken I-have-little-you-have-little-let’s-share-it attitude that thrives among households. I have a neighbour, a wife and mother of five, whose financial situation is visibly difficult. Yet from the very first day I moved into . . .
Read MoreIs anything the matter? Drawings by Laylah Ali University Museum of Contemporary Art, University of Massachusetts Amherst February 14 to May 9, 2025 As I stepped into the main gallery of the University Museum of Contemporary Art (UMCA), I was confronted with the question—Is anything the matter?—splayed across the entry wall. Instinctively, . . .
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Duh sky was heavy wit smoke, wails& choppers whirrin’—searchlightstrained on civilians. Sounds of warclawed duh windows, tried to crawlunduh’ duh do’ways too, ’bout did’til yo granmama got to sangin’.—from “Grandpa’s Detroit #2 (The 1968 Riot),” Volume 66, Issue 1 (Spring 2025) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.I still . . .
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Bertram Bracht’s luck changed for the better exactly twenty-four hours and ten minutes before the American immigration authorities boarded the good ship Betrüger to decide which passengers would be admitted to the United States and which sent back to their perilous homelands. His fortunes until then had been dismal, an endless series of fears . . .
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Whenever I feel like an outsiderlooking in, I draw a circle around myselfwith imaginary chalk & pretendI’m the center of the universe.—from “Can America’s Democracy Be Saved?,” Volume 66, Issue 1 (Spring 2025) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote. I wrote what I consider one of my first real . . .
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Ashley crouched before her pram, settling Jack into the seat and fixing his face. In the dim light of her home, it was difficult to judge the effect. Heavy shades were drawn on all the windows, and she sat under a single yellowed skylight that dripped light over the linoleum like water . . .
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A Review of Nnedi Okorafor’s Death of the Author “Creation flows both ways” remarks Ankara, the robot and author of the novel embedded within Nnedi Okorafor’s latest speculative masterpiece, Death of the Author. This sentiment, something “humanity could never bring itself to believe,” is a prescient reminder that the act of creation . . .
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rusty eyed orphaned tracks. somber, un-blinking house. what we keep calling a face, though never our own. wildly invasivedead things & when the train that nevercomes doesn’t come again, the wool we’ve gathered to stave off winter refuses to hold us together. basho said the cry of the cicada gives us no sign that presently we will . . .
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What does it mean to be a poet, another “Homer”going home? Trying to find one?Is it time to prepare?—from “Loose Strings,” Volume 65, Issue 4 (Winter 2024) What role does language play in resisting colonialism and precipitating and precipitating? How does your piece engage with this question?Language is the steppingstone to any . . .
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When sagebrush sprouts from rhizome, growingitself from itself, this pungent shrubhas a far fairer shot at survival—from “Artemisia Tridentata,” Volume 66, Issue 1 (Spring 2025) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.I wrote a haiku about a hamburger in fourth grade that was read on the radio. I really . . .
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