The collage by Kristin Fouquet is an apt introduction to this issue, launched in the final throes of the chaotic, often hateful presidential campaigning. How wonderful it would be if the joyful prospect of electing the first woman president of the United States could be just that. Perhaps we can make it so by encouraging…

By Jacqueline Jules Woke this morningwith self-immolation on my mind,not planning it, just incredulousthat anyone setting themselves on firewould expect others to pay attentionin this world of “alternative facts”where the size of an inaugurationcan be disputed by the White Housealong with whether or not menscaling the walls of Congresscan be considered an insurrection. It feels…

By Chiara Di Lello Amazing year for rich people says the headline announcingbillionaires like the latest bumpercrop. Congratulations to the proud capitaldaddies drooling over their offspring, as liable toeat their own in next year’s acquisitions as tofeed their cornflower blue-collared shaven throats.Go on, clap for them while we dance like bears forhealthcare and an hourly…

And there he sits, or tilts like an officious grasshopper over the wooden podium. Face sprayed orange to fake the sun. Hair shellacked to cheat the wind. Railing against Marxists and the Green New Deal.

By Rasmenia Massoud There’s no telling how long his 15 minutes are gonna last. His raincloud-gray eyes stare out from thumbnails and video clips in news feeds. They’re surrounded by white impact font, memeified versions of him coming in from the left and the right. There he is. The conservative news hero du jour. The…

By D. Arifah D. Arifah is an aspiring photographer who is fascinated by the silent stories the world tells. Through her photography, she seeks to preserve these delicate narratives and share with others the depth of human experience and the quiet power of our interrelation with our environments. Much of her work is an invitation…

By Elizabeth Shack This tiny house boasts sustainability:energy-efficient electric appliances,shaded southern windows for leafy sun,a wood stove for cozy northern nights. This tiny house is a Facebook ad,a leaf in an AI-generated photo forestwhere an algorithm squirrels seeds of my attention. I’ve spent more time lookingfor DIY backyard forests, urban orchards,and how to help wild…

By Diane Vogel Ferri Election day is a carnival ride of hopeand despair, each taking their fluctuatingturns. In the back yard, birds and squirrelscontinue coexisting, while we, the supposedlymore evolved, battle through every Novemberand false ad. The downy woodpecker hammersaway at the side of the house and I don’t carebecause she’s committed to her life,…

By Matthew Donovan I believe her becauseher story gains her nothing.Some of those she tellssay she’s seeking attention. They say she’s ruininghis reputation.  I believe her becauseit happens each day.And because it’s in me to do what she says was done. I believe her because she,not I—lived it. Those thatcling to power deny it, orsay it’s forgivableboys’ behavior. I believe her becausewe…

By Robyn Bashaw “Don’t!” Eeip closes his mitt over Swee’s, stopping her from placing the bone into the waiting psittaciforme’s beak. Eeip pulls the bone from Swee’s grasp, tossing it in the Trash Trench where it lands between a rusty fork with its one twisted tine veering right and a single brass earring with its…

By Kate Rogers             – After Marta Ziemelis                                                                     My friend, in Canada 12 years,a citizen now, fled Iranto let her shining dark curls, fragrantwith coconut oil, flow freeof the restraining cowlimposed by men unwillingto incarcerate their own desire.Her locks tumbling looseover her shoulders, she chose exile,yearning to love whomever she wants. Mahsa Amini, red-lipped,only…

By Rachel Turney Artist’s StatementI am an educator who works in two roles. I coach and supervise new teachers and teach immigrants and refugees. Education as a general theme influences my work. I write a lot about my childhood, which I call suburban dramatic. It is a rose: alluring, sweet, but thorned. Growing up in…

By Linda Bamber Cassandra swore there was no Gulf of Tonkinbut of courseno one believed her.She knew the Trojan Horse was loaded with deathand that there were no WMD’s in Iraqand if Paris, her brother, stole HelenTroy would falland all its people be enslaved.Then the Pentagon Papers came out.Didn’t I . . . ? said…

By Craig Kirchner His wife rushed in looking like she couldn’t breathe.They’re coming, the man at the gate told me.They call ahead so he is not an issue. We have an hour. He printed out all the poems and put them in a box,buried them in the woods behind the condo,gave his wife the key…

By Angela Townsend I went back to Frenchtown, but Frenchtown could not come back to me. Frenchtown is the daintiest of the “river towns,” a flower crown ringing the Delaware. They hold hands across two states. They hold out bread for every stranger. Nothing snide can survive this soil. New Hope remembers its own name…

By Ellen Girardeau Kempler This poem is a scaffoldingbuilt of assault weapons& high-capacity magazinesfor recurring questions I have,a terrible structure for hangingreloadable horrors in bright daylight.What questions?you might ask. I’m dumbfounded.I can’t evenanswer, can only instruct youto remain perfectly quiet & listen—maybe hide behind/under a desk,evaluate your escape routes,hug your friends, text your family,dial 911,…

By Christian Hanz Lozada chopping through tides and promise.My coworker says, “I mean, I’m white, so, implicit bias much? We have no story,” referring to her kid’s project askingabout how the family’s migrationwas affected by World War 2 and the Cold War. She says, “I understand I can’t say anything,but we’ve been American since the 18th century,so there’s…

By Ryan Owen When her husband lowers the newspaper and stops hiding his cancer, Stacy learns that their voting rights have eroded as quickly as his health.   The front fold rests on his lap. “How?” she asks. “With new laws.” He taps the headline with an ink-stained fingertip. From the kitchen countertop, a screen’s…

By Michael Henson What are the dreamsThat await the sleep of Mitch McConnell?Do children enter with their hungers?Do they sit at the side of the road of dreamwith their empty bowlsand their wide curious eyes?I believe they wait each day in their hidden placesalong the congressional corridors,hidden in the pedestals of the heroic torsosor in…

By Kristin Fouquet Artist’s StatementIn a world seduced by artificial intelligence, I assemble my collages more traditionally. I use my original printed photographs on archival paper with pigment ink, cut them, glue them on foam board, and embellish them with gold paint. Kristin Fouquet is a photographer, collage maker, and writer in lovely New Orleans.…