"if you were to split us open now, all you’d find was emptiness."
I was free. Free to stand on my own feet, rise from dirty baptism – a disbeliever no longer.
our eyes have crusted like pressed apricots the mountains drip over our footsteps
by Molly Mellinger An Author Interview by Molly Mellinger I’m having trouble getting into the Zoom meeting with the poet Elya Braden, although I’m supposed to be the millennial here. I apologize and Elya says, brightly, “Oh! I’ll fix it,” and she does. She tells me that she also teaches a Zoom workshop, as well … Continue reading Chai and the Fog of Creativity: Elya Braden Discusses her New Chapbook “Open the Fist”
Straight hair was fun for about two minutes.
by Danielle Cowan American Body “The reality of theAmericanbodyIs about to come crashing down hard”—Ask Reddit, March 2020 Before finding all the creative writing workshops and community-making migrating to Zoom,I collected a Reddit comment that seemed like the least Corona-covered contaminant to consume. Is it theAmericanbodyOf the 1 train conductor?calling out “the next stop will … Continue reading American Body. Poetry Honorable Mention.
I love the smell of racism in the morning
Mourning netting, I call it, hiding the dead.
Uncle wore it like high tops, his approach to our home just like those storms, bringing trouble as he shuffled his feet, scooting the dirt until the porch was large before him.
My daughter pierces my soul “Ma, I do my Black girl in the mirror and my White girl at school.”