Writing is an act of resistance
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Welcome to Writers Resist the Winter 2025 Issue
Whether you’re still in recovery or planning your resistance against the incoming regime, there’s plenty of common ground in this the Winter 2025 issue of Writers Resist. Enjoy the art, poetry and prose and then join us for our virtual Writers Resist Reads, Saturday 15 February 2025, at 5:00 p.m. Pacific. Just email for the…
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Why I Fight for Texas Even Though Everyone Says We Should Move
By Melissa McEver Huckabay Sapphire flowers on the roadside.Mountain laurels that smell like grapes.Yellow sulphurs that flit among blooms.Breakfast tacos and tiny salsa cups.Muddy bayous that swallow your feet.Pine trees that touch the sun.Whataburger lines circling the block.Dr. Pepper. Shiner. Blue Bell.Sticky shirt by 8 a.m. Sunburn by 10.Summers hiding in air conditioning.Wearing shorts on…
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You Don’t Run
Karen Crawford, predators, sexual misconduct, Narrative nonfiction, misogyny, sexism, sexual harassmentBy Karen Crawford even though you’re late for class, you don’t run because in this neck of the woods running screams fear, so you walk briskly and with purpose, always acting like you know where you’re going even if you don’t and when you get to the subway, you never root around your bag for…
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Trigger Warning
By Flavian Mark Lupinetti Never before has my hospital seensuch dismembered torsos and pulverized brains,results of a shooting with an AR-15. The speed of a bullet from an AR-15creates cavitation through muscles and veins.A shot to the shoulder can rupture the spleen. All of our doctors and nurses convene,yet it’s futile to treat what are…
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Uprooted/Planted
By Ash Reynolds Today I learned the word “ecocide”murder of the environmentIntentional destruction of the soil, airof olive trees, strawberry fieldsMourn for all that is lostthe homeless animals, the rootless treesDon’t cry over spilled oilor plastic crowding the oceanColonizers raping an open woundhands stained copper-tongue carmineDear planet, look what they’ve done to you Today I…
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About Those Census Checkboxes
By Beulah Vega To those who do not lookshe looks nothing like mebut we share that look the slow ashen gaze that says I’m tired of these forms that push messy spheresinto uniform squares. She/ I/ we are tired. Tiredin the marrow of our bonesthat share color and structure but not marrow matches tired of…
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mmiwg
By Amritha York for now the red maple in the cloth flag remains the stain of a history attempting to come undone,but the other day i said bye to my friend and wasn’t sure if i’d ever see her again.the other day, a waste management person told me they were scared of what they’d find…
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Gen X Girls Ghazal
By M.R. Mandell after Patricia Smith We woke ourselves up, brushed our own hair, cooked our own dinners, tuckedour sisters into bed. We were thirty at the age of thirteen. We needed nobody. Vogued to Madonna. Leather jackets, tattooed midriffs, clove cigarettes slippingoff our lips, kissing girls under neon, electrifying every part of our…
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kaala; kala
By Ria Raj my mother traces her fingers along my mahogany-skinand calls me kaala,hindi for black. my mother traces her fingers along a film photograph of her homeland,and calls it kala,hindi for art. i find it particularly lovelythat artis intrinsicto Blacknessin the hindi language ka(a)la the ubiquity of theenglish languageis contingent upon Black destruction and…