By Olga Livshin …people like me. Does not like our sweatshirts, pilled, our backpacks, full of bric-a-brac, us, detained, on the floor, airport animals. Something has claimed that my adopted country’s autobiography of openness is finished. Something opens the mouths of my Jewish immigrant family to mutter: good for those terrorists to wait, hope their […]
By David Martinez I’m reading Open Veins of Latin America—because I’m writing my South-American book—when the woman in the parking lot starts to scream. The man’s screaming, too, and it’s violent screaming and I can’t see them. But I know they’re both red-faced and she’s crying. She’s shrieking. They’ve both been shrieking for a lifetime, but I […]
By Marvin Lurie Every time I think I’ve gone too far, I read the paper and realize I haven’t gone far enough. Baa Baa Donny have you any money? Yes sir. Yes Sir, full banks many. Some for my gold door, some for my pompadour none for the little boy stranded on the shore. Donny […]
By Nancy Dunlop Brutal Things Must Be Said –James Baldwin Some poems reside in oven mitts, opening the stove and reaching for the pan with the leavened bread flowing over its edges, the mitts pull it out, piping hot. A safe and soothing thing. We are okay. Some poems are like an arrow in […]
