Writing is an act of resistance
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Five short stories by Amirah Al Wassif
Running away My mouth is full of mice. I can’t talk or protest. I was born in the darkest spot of the world. My people hate the sun. They put the weight of the world on my tiny shoulders. When I was young, I was a great talker, but when I became 12 years old,…
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I can’t breathe
Mary F. Lenox, plastics pollution, urban blight, air and water pollution, activism, progressive change, Poetry, climate crisis, #BLM, systemic racismBy Mary F. Lenox I can’t breathe the words said written on a waste container near the sidewalk I wondered what other unheard voices say I can’t breathe Dying fish of the sea echo I can’t breathe as they navigate through plastic and oil invaders Birds call out through polluted air I can’t breathe…
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Dead Man Votes in Wayne County, Michigan
By William Palmer I found an old mask on the ground and stood in line. At a table I handed a woman a scrap of paper with my name on it and my old address. She scrunched her face to check it while a big guy behind her wearing a white mask with red…
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My body belongs to me
By Claire Sexton It’s an insight the menopause has gifted to me. The knowledge that my body belongs wholly to me. At last I can own my own body. At last I don’t need to parade for boys or girls. I can walk around my flat freely. I can look in the mirror without…
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The Woman in Elmina
By Nicole Tanquary There is a coastal village called Elmina. An abandoned slave castle sits at the village’s highest point. The castle walls stand in stark white stone that burns in the sun, the paint achingly fresh—the castle is now a museum, and it has money to keep itself restored, more than can be…
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1962
By Ruth Hoberman Memorial Day, we wore white gloves to hold the flag. Songs fluttered in our lungs like helium: we were pilgrim and witch, Crockett and Quaker, the slave, the raft, the shore. We were eleven, rich in Sousaphones and common wealth, so sure of where the river went, we’d beg our teachers…
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Anger Management in a Time of COVID-19 Pandemic and Riotous Grief
Watts Rebellion, Watts Uprising, Stacy Koon, Laurence Powell, Rodney King, Reginald Denny, Poetry, Empire Liquor, Ron L. Dowell, Los Angeles riot, Georgia Stone Mountain, Latasha Harlins, Marquette FryeBy Ron L. Dowell I First, understand what you call a riot was the Watts rebellion ending our 1965 Little League season. No last inning strikeout, but choking smoke, thick of burning rubber, no walk-off homerun, but smoldering wood, no game-winning catch, but chemicals scorching our throats, chest, lungs, interrupting me & Gerald’s sunrise…
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Duende and The Great Matter of Life-and-Death
life and death, Black Lives Matter, duende, Poetry, State violence, George Floyd, Terrance Bridges, Ahmaud Arbery, Lloyd Stevenson, Breonna Taylor, #BLM, police brutality, Karen Morris, Garcia LorcaBy Karen Morris Garcia Lorca called me last night (Before you get in a twist, he called you too. You didn’t pick up.) He said, “Disappearance and Death are real.” I suggested he text but, texting’s too flat for the poetics of death. “Sure,” you said to no one out loud, ridding yourself of…
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After the Splat
By Kate LaDew In 1867, the first instance of a hero saving their sweetheart from an oncoming train after a dastardly villain tied them to the tracks debuted in the last scene of a New York stage play. The hero’s sweetheart calls for help, while the hero, locked inside the train station, watches from a barred window, searching…