Writing is an act of resistance
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Breaking Up Is Hard to Do
By Gary Laitman Listen, as your friend I feel it is time for us to openly discuss something that’s been bothering me for a while, but it’s a somewhat delicate matter. Please understand I am only bringing this up because I feel that you have been taken advantage of and I do not want…
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Insomnia
By Amy Shaw Maybe it’s because These hours are quiet Without bread or shoe Dropping on dirty floor Maybe it’s because I am alone needed No more Maybe It’s the darkness Which somehow feels More vivid and light Than the dreams I had Maybe it’s the wine I drank with dinner Maybe it’s my…
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Wednesday’s Child
By Sara Marchant On Wednesday, during peer review, a student waves me over to say something in a voice so low and hoarse I strain to catch the words. “ICE went into Cardenas Market and took people away.” “What?” I say. I must have misunderstood. The students are reviewing papers with topics like Foucault’s…
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What I Want
By Judith Prest I want the open sore our country has become to finish draining and start healing I want the kneeling football players awarded trophies for honoring the fallen I want the ancestors to gather, sing us songs of solidarity stroke our brows while we sleep I want to see the homeless rise…
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On the Knees of Metal Gods
By G. Louis Heath Someday soon, better later, the icons we Worship will leap from their cathedrals To quick pulses, the implosive blood of Impulse. On that surge, the hooded eyes Of eternity will blink, or they will not. The existential surge of non-being rises On the tide of fathomless hearts till the Fates…
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Female Fellow at the American Film Institute Doheny Mansion, Beverly Hills, 1971
By Penny Perry She pulled up in her dented VW, twenty miles from her cockroach-filled kitchen. Five feet tall, wearing a three-dollar dress from Lerner’s. The dress long and black, looked expensive. N.O.W. had picketed the all male institute the year before. Marble floors. Carved wood staircases. Louis the 14th chairs. The study where…
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Bathsheba wants to write #metoo
By Crystal Stone Her husband enlisted: eager to fight, eager to serve. She was a good wife, accepted this. She could argue, but why fight? The last night the sun set pale in their wine by the garden. The last kiss was fragile—lips thin and chapped with goodbyes. In his absence, she bathed behind…
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A Dystopian Declaration
By David H. Reinarz Following close on the heels of a surprisingly resurgent 45th President and the disappointing turnout by the Resistance in the 2018 mid-term elections, due to chaos fatigue and disorganization, the extremist wing of the Republican Party swept into even greater power in Washington, D.C. This document was issued by the…
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War
By Rachel Custer In the same way that an old man without a home is more likely to be bearded, war shuffles first into small towns. Picks up cans ‘longside the rurr-route. War knocks first on the faded doors of the poor. He’s a carnival barker, this one, his eyes full of young men…