Writing is an act of resistance
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Join Writers Resist at Boca de Oro Festival
Writers Resist Readings at Boca de Oro Festival March 5 and March 6, 2021 Keynote Speaker: Pete Souza, presidential photographer Closing Speaker: Marc Bamuthi Joseph, poet and playwright The festival of literary, visual, and performing arts presents two virtual WR readings Writers Resist: Global Voices Hosted by Kit-Bacon Gressitt and Sara Marchant. Visit the Writers Resist events page for featured…
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The wicked Trump presidency is dead
Yo-ho! Consequently, this is the final bi-weekly issue of Writers Resist. Although we have other things in the works, we want to pause to thank the hundreds of writers, artists, donors, and volunteer editors, who have lived the last four years with us, raging and weeping and laughing—and hoping. K-B, if she could, would also…
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Paean to All the Books I’m Reading in the Time of COVID
and Black Lives Matter By Patricia Aya Williams From the un-masked and (turtled nooks) of home to the socially – distanced and sanitized patios of coffeeshops, I greet you. The world spins on an axis of livid proclaiming and bulleted majesty while vultures circle the…
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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…