Writing is an act of resistance
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Beware the Homo Sapiens
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…
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Sisters
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…
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Respect
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…
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Endless War
Balfour Declaration, Middle East conflicts, war poetry, Poetry, Palestine, Israel, Linda Bamber, HamasBy 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 Iraq and if Paris, her brother, stole HelenTroy would falland all its people be enslaved.Then the Pentagon Papers came out.Didn’t I . . . ?…
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The Coming
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…
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French Kissed
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…
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Poem in Response to Mass Shooting Number 130 in the United States of America 2023
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 even answer, can only instruct youto remain perfectly quiet & listen—maybe hide behind/under a desk,evaluate your escape routes,hug your friends, text your…
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When I hear ‘migration,’ I think of ships
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…
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Breathe
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…