Ever since my mother stopped reading my poemsI have searched for death in the eyes of my friendsAs if I had been lodged in a fableThat insulates me from dying suddenly, and without reckoning.—Translated from Rana al-Tonsi’s “27,” Volume 66, Issue 1 (Spring 2025) Tell us about one of the first pieces . . .
Read More
She became a lactation consultant, perhaps to help people like me, whose babies shrieked when breastfed as though the milk were poison, and then she became a Lamaze instructor, perhaps to help people like me, whose birth plans were ripped apart by malpositioned babies and maternal exhaustion.—from “What We Weren’t Expecting,” Volume . . .
Read More
Editor’s note: April 23, 2025, on the campus of the University of Massachusetts Amherst, the celebrated Italian documentarian Agostino Ferrente presented his 2019 film Selfie, which first screened at the Berlin Film Festival, was nominated for Best Documentary at the European Film Awards, and subsequently won prizes at film festivals in Luxembourg . . .
Read More
White wall. Poor connection. Bags under his eyes. Broad shoulders that stretch his T-shirt. Get a bigger T-shirt. Speak louder. Speak less. The swell of his bottom lip. The way he shortens my name. White wall. Brown bedpost. Handcuffs. Necktie. Fuck. Something. Something.—from “Spring Roll,” Volume 66, Issue 1 (Spring 2025) Tell . . .
Read More
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, . . .
Read More
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 . . .
Read More
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 . . .
Read More
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 . . .
Read More
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 . . .
Read More