Writing is an act of resistance
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I Only Smile at Dogs
By Lizz Schumer Femme is an act of war Living in this body performance art Like daring to walk down the street. (Does my topknot offend you?) Keeping men’s words out of my head (Hey baby, smile for me) To make room for my own. Lipstick and lace body-armored My skin is a weapon…
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Soup and Democracy
By Susan Swartz I took a day off from the news and made soup. No NPR. No New York Times. No local paper. No TV. A lot of curry. I took shelter from Syria and Parkland in my sunny kitchen. Had it not been for two teaspoons of neon orange turmeric I might have…
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Tethered by Borders
By Sneha Subramanian Kanta The space aboriginals find home is soon lost thereafter; it never belonged to them. Their woe, the dream of governments, the nightmare of politicians. Press conferences quibble in placards of justice handed – smudged in red ink over a white cardboard surface, as though a widowed woman in India dare wear…
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Dead in the Water
By Dick Eiden “German liners struggled heroically to emulate Wagnerian castles, English liners fell into the dark wood and leather habits of a London club.” – Melvin Maddocks, The Great Liners, (Alexandria, VA, 1978) The bow went down first, while the stern stood tall, slowly disappearing two and a half hours after the…
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They
By Kate Delany “They burned their own houses and ran away,” Myanmar police forces said of the Rohingya minorities fleeing burning villages, leaving behind all possessions and their dead. They burn their own villages. They won’t learn proper English. They choose the Mommy track. They choose to live like that. They lie. They steal. They…
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Bad News
By Ellen Girardeau Kempler In one stop- action second you spin in slow motion over the sharp edge of knowing. There was then & there is now. No scrabbling back up the cliff face. No rewind button. No cartoon-stopping on the way down. No spaceship to beam you away. No, the pressure is in…
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The Sestina of Forbidden Words
By Mark J. Mitchell For Ruth Hulbert In the dream you’re vulnerable— small, twisted on yourself—a fetus waiting for limbs to awake to their diversity, still unsure of your transgender. As yet, you have no sense of entitlement, just a fear, unnamed, somehow science based. It’s cold where you dream. Evidence is based…
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Two poems by Ginny Lowe Connors
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What ‘War for the Planet of the Apes’ Reveals about Humans
By Martin Ott Yes, we can be convinced to cheer for our own extinction. My coworker debates which side to root for but settles on apes. Humans act like monsters or have always yanked borderlines into garrotes. The creatures learn to communicate and are almost undone by curses, signs, and guns. Least among us…