Writing is an act of resistance
-
Oh, brother, where art thou?
By Kathleen Hellen “You never really get the smell of burning flesh out of your nose entirely.” – J.D. Salinger I’d thought that you’d do better than a sidekick, thought that you’d articulate—knowing, as you must, about the stink they left behind, the helicopters lifting from the ruins in Saigon. Of course, I smelled it…
-
Man with a Knife
secual harassment, rape, Hollywood, film industry, script, Fiction, #MeToo, sexual assault, Tara Stillions WhiteheadBy Tara Stillions Whitehead ENTER death as sound blackening an already shadowy scene—as a long, hard lament from the HORN of the failed getaway car. Then, as a YOUNG WOMAN. Everything is lost; everyone has lost. At this distance, death is an exquisite execution of convention. A triumph of method acting. Near-perfect cinema. It…
-
Late Afternoon in the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe
By Joe Milosch Sitting in the barrio church, I look at the altar window. It is a pale October evening, but now its rainbow-colored shore glows in the stained-glass. Standing mast-like in a boat, Christ looks toward land as he turns red at sunset. He doesn’t look like a carpenter’s son any more than…
-
Sonnet: Australia in 2020
By Chris Collins ‘graves from which a glorious Phantom may Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day’ – P. B. Shelley, England in 1819 An orange light, pale, sickly, dying Chokes the sky, while it anaesthetises. Infected air, poisoned, thick and blinding, But smoke can’t…
-
Fire Storm: Poem Beginning with a Line from Jane Kenyon
By Lynn Wagner Into light all things must fall, glad at last to have fallen while the crown fires burn and branches break, charred and brittled to the tall trees’ bones. Fall down from the sky fantails, so stumble purple swamphen along the shore. And day is night and ash is all while pyrocumulonimbus…
-
Americans are rushing around stocking up on toilet paper
stockpiling tp, privilege, plastic pollution, Poetry, climate crisis, COVID-19, Marcy Rae Henry, carona virusBy Marcy Rae Henry In Himalayan India we used leaves buckets of water and our hands Best-selling tampons have applicators because Americans are afraid to touch themselves In Himalayan India we didn’t have tampons We used rags and pads but didn’t touch each other’s hands to say hello When wiping with…
-
Say Their Names
Writers Resist is honored to share some of the many and diverse creative writings recently inspired by Black Lives Matter, systemic racism, police brutality, U.S. protests, and the gorgeous, global chorus demanding equity and equality for all. This issue includes works by Kitty Anarchy, Despy Boutris, Schyler Butler, Marcy Rae Henry, Dana Kinsey, Christa Miller,…
-
Years that ask questions
By Marcy Rae Henry Black like me said John Howard Griffin and the world listened (Black like losing electricity) Black like me said Rachel Dolezal and the world blistered (Black like the plague) Black lives matter (now) say my neighbors (Black like squares on a checkerboard) Black is beautiful said Bill Allen (maybe) and…
-
Each Day I Ask Nine Words
By Rebecca Tolin Less than nine minutes is how long it took to snuff the life out of a man a white officer with his knee on the neck of a black man in Minneapolis. Necks are not meant for kneeling mister officer. Necks are meant for breathing turning linking head to the heart.…