Writing is an act of resistance
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The Fire Still Burns
By Gary Priest Fire makes us all believers. There’s a unity in fear that allowed science and religion to merge into a rational hysteria that swept us all along on a wave of koala memes and apocalypse FOMO. The eco-inspired crimewave started in the mid 2020s. This was not just shutting down airport runways…
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Donald Trump’s Titanic
By Cassandra Henken The world today is like watching a shipwreck in slow motion. Donald Trump is the iceberg, and America is the Titanic. We laughed about being able to smell ice when it’s near— Iceberg, right ahead! We elected him anyway. Just as they said, “God himself could not sink this ship!” when…
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¡Despierta!
By Ada Ardére She lies rotting in saltwater that thrashes about white resorts that in their time and in their place drown out her voice as it would otherwise be heard begging, pleading, screaming for the lives of her children as they sit in wards without power, diabetic comas consuming the elderly and children…
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75th Remembrance Poem
By Michel Steven Krug Another night, so far beyond famished, the stubby pencil rescued from gravel sharpened by secret pebbles to write about the ingredients of normalcy. Ilona from Budapest narrates: two cups of flour, 3/4 cup sugar, an egg or two (depends on size), a finger of baking powder, touch of vanilla, crushed…
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my body, my choice
By Kitty Anarchy jesus said? jesus is dead. jesus don’t have what’s between our legs our cavities ovaries fallopian tubes uterus cervix not just vagina! could you even name the parts tucked deep inside us? jesus’ mary magdalene history erased resurrected in us now who’s two-faced men preach and give mandates not to have…
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Eulogy for the Unfriended
By Jon Wesick We gather to mourn the loss of Alice stroking her brown-and-white Saint Bernard, Barbara embracing her acoustic guitar, Cheryl who tipsy on Chianti flirted with me at Don’s going-away dinner, Roberta who toured Chinese Zen temples, Brad who worked nonviolence into his martial arts when evicting drunks from a topless bar,…
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Playing Possum
By Phebe Jewell Mama won’t let us leave the house, and MJ is furious. After dinner we form a line at the kitchen sink, Mama on one end, up to her elbows in dishwater, MJ in the middle, rinsing each bowl and plate. I wait at the other end of the line, ready with…
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The Bean Peddlers
By Matthew Moniz an ekphrasis of the Trumps’ Goya photos after Gwendolyn Brooks They count beans mostly, this vain green-eyed pair. Ruling is a casual affair. Stretched stares on stretched and creaking smiles, Desks bare. Two who are Mostly Vile. Two who have wasted days, But keep on wanting more And wanting things their way.…
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Gurū Testimonial #1843
By Wendy Lee “I hope you don’t make me regret finding you a job. Will is a good friend of mine,” Dad says. “I’ll do the best I can,” I say. “Are you still playing bass?” “No, Mom threw it away.” Mom always said bass guitar was not ladylike. She didn’t like the thick,…