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April 22, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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The fledglings, how do they do it? And the new-furred rabbits, emerging from the nest? Something amiss is what the air, electric, must warn the starlings; the rabbits, they leave at...
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April 22, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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This first day of a new year clouds blues skies visible through the melt of smog, a light drift of noxious air smelling of burnt things. We walk the streets, quiet with the serenity of a...
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April 21, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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The vein caterpillars up, sucks it down through a glass straw, then we vanish. Its bliss, by the mean of memory can not be resurrected, only performed. Perhaps no different...
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April 14, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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When metaphors slide the scalp back to its abyss of bone. When the simile proves like more human than is. When you heard the metal rod striking bone. Yes, it is bone. The palate halved. The...
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March 16, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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when you walk up exactly six chipped and weathered stone stairs to rap gently on a door. You count the number of stairs in your throat. You count them with the dry click of your shoes. At...
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March 12, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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Like a walkway, she’d turn beneath his feet, angles becoming those of his body. Her voice looked to his vowels for molds in which to pour herself. She waited, cooling, for every part of...
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March 11, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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my mom holds her accent like a shotgun, with two good hands. her tongue, all brass knuckle slipping in between her lips her hips, all laughter and wind clap. she speaks a sanchocho of...
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March 8, 2014 |
in Uncategorized |
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Cristina Wulff is a painter, illustrator, and traditional animator. She has been trained as a traditional artist since she was very young and for the past five years, she...
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March 7, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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If there’s a synonym for magic it lies not in the wand but at the bud-bent end. The body’s a spring, the mind a whore. Easter dawn, and loss. Better to have been born poor...
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February 14, 2014 |
in Art & Photography |
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Brianna McCarthy is a mixed media artist who lives and works in Trinidad and Tobago. Her work takes on the intricacies and dynamics of representing Afro-Caribbean women who...
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February 14, 2014 |
in Fiction |
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For the New Jersey Four[i] Verniece The whole summer after high school graduation, the weatherman on Channel Nine kept promising a heat wave. Had me dreaming of days curled up under the...
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February 5, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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verse more than perm or not more than hood or not more than Chicago or Brooklyn or Omaha or Biloxi or not more than somebody’s woman...
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January 31, 2014 |
in Fiction |
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0
The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no one lets us in. I bang on the front door and Wayne hits the back and I can hear our double drum shaking...
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January 27, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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A false lake. Sheen of a wanton flotilla peached in blue. The rented Nissan. Loam off green mountain. Explosions in the distance. Trails fractured and rethreaded....
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January 23, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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For you took the night away over the garden wall & left no shelter for the aster or the deer that hid there, feeding. You emptied the buckets where rain would last for days. Where the...
[new_royalslider id="17"]
Ana Flores is a sculptor and ecologist. Her work is informed by how pla
2 Poems
Let Me Straddle Your Mind
The Crusader
Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back
it was important to me
Kwame Dawes
1
Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun
shacks, where the road loses its way
to dirt and live 
[new_royalslider id="11"]
Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to lea
Junot' Diaz
and Edison, NJ
The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no on
Elegy & Poem
"We are all the other."
…and find inside a picture,
of myself as a child, sitting
on a small chair, wearing overalls
an
Raphael Perez
To Alex, on turning two
Some say the Ring of Brogar
is the Circle of the Moon.
There is n
March on Washington
An Interview with Cheryl Evans
In a strange twist of what seemed
like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti
Mecca was painted over. 
Forest Gander
A Translation
Quassan Castro, poem
Grandson to Grandmother
Wynwood Walls, of Miami has been called "a Museum of the Streets."
Low like the mean dream
of Newark the sky must
have seemed to its builders.
Rickety now, unhingin
At last, the extremes
of his present methods
seemed to offer
the happiest avenues.
The strengthe
5th Limb
Poems
Poem, Knot
Poem, Look This Way
Xue Du, Poem
A woman in a black kimono dyed black hair
disappeared behind a black curtai
Poem:
Behind the War On Women
Maria Mizzotti-Gillan
Short Story
Pilar Fraile Amador
poem
Lady Haiti
David Trinidad
Landzy Theodore
Angelo Nikolopoulos
