Current Issue

This is Writers Resist‘s tenth summer, and this issue is one of our most challenging—not solely due to its size. Perhaps it’s the prolonged exposure to putrid politicians (a putrescence of politicians, if you’ve an affinity for terms of venery) that has inspired the constellation of passions reflected in the issue. From the analogies in…

By Danita Dodson Better the autumn olive growing wild, the kudzu draggingbarns back into earth, the honeysuckle chokingfenceposts—than the fever of a nation shuttering its gates tohuman dreams. Better the Johnson grass towering overbarbed wire, the Hungarian brome in ditches, the Nepalesebrowntop flaring through fallow fields—than the metalmouths of B-2s dropped by a madman. Better…

By Carolyn Gevinski This is not Polly’s first murder, Polly thinks. Malbec blood spills between her fingers. But this is the first time she feels for what she’s done. Guilt, in every crevice of her body. Shards of remorse, glass between her thighs. It’s a stupid thought, but she thinks it anyway. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.…

By Phyllis Wax Where is the angelwho will save us?             Not in masked thugs            who descend on ordinary people            and whisk them away in unmarked cars                        Not in civil servants            who, to keep their jobs,            bend to the boss’s demands             Not in political appointees            who think any law            can be broken            …

By Suzanne Edison                     All words in italics come from at least one federal agency’s list of                     “woke” terms that need to be avoided—NYTimes, 11 March 2025 I.Born in the garden, a sanctuary. No barriers and all beings had a sense of belonging. II.Assigned at birth, her gender, female. Though perhaps transgender . . . you…

By Samantha Lucia I said yes to permanence at 27They called it ESSURE    They called it SAFE Two metal coilsthreadedinto fallopian tubeslike promises — like policy                                                                                               market-vetted                                                                                          APPROVEDNo incisionsIn-office procedure Try coilsthrust rawinto tubesunanesthetized                                                                                           Women’s pain                                                                                          thresholds Twelve years ofmy body screaming,“STOP!” And physicians saying,“PROVE IT.” The coils scarred over — created blockagesleaked nickel into unwilling tissue Inflammation…

By Daniel P. Douglas New York Police Department – Homicide DivisionDetective Joseph “Joe” Law, Badge #1886October 2025 The call came in at 3:47 AM on a Tuesday that felt like the end of the world’s longest hangover. Rain pounded Manhattan, each drop a reminder that even heaven had given up trying to wash this place…

By Victoria Reyes                     for Mahmoud Khalil itstartedoffanordinaryday. suddenly:accosted. handcuffed.kidnapped. withoutawarrant &withholdingtheirnames, ICEagents tearyou fromyourdoctor wife,8monthspregnant, filmingtheordeal.secretedtoa Louisianabunker, you’regivennopillow tolaydownyourhead, nocloaktostaveoffthecold, missingthebirth ofyourchild. forwhat longingforaFreePalestine?anendtogenocide? youareremindedofSyria. Werecall genocide &enslavement asU.S.origins. thereisnofreespeech— only the rich have mouths. Victoria Reyes (she/her) is a writer, poet, and scholar. She’s also the author of Global Borderlands: Fantasy, Violence, and Empire…

By Marc Audet Lake Whitney shivers as the winter wind descends upon us from the Canadian Arctic. I pause my walk and search for the Canada Geese that visit these waters. They are back this morning, floating some distance away in composed tranquility, hardly noticing me. To think that they dare to cross our northern…

By Krista Lee Hanson                           For Renée Nicole Good You said your soul lived, perhaps,in-between your pancreas & large intestine. My soul has been skittish,these days, hiding, perhapsin-between my cranium &cervical spine, under hunched shouldersbracing for the next disaster, but your violentmurder,the sudden snuffing of your life,your mother-poet light, the horror of it has shaken me,rattled…

By Anne Reiner                             For Alex Pretti we’re all under the same lawNewton’s thirdwhere forces always come in pairs  tear gas roars at a citizena citizen roars back with anequal and opposite forceof a protest  a knee pushes againsta neck a neckpushes back with an equal and opposite force of a movement an agent of the state shootsa bullet a bullet a bullet a…

By Raima Larter The boy grasps the rope, swings out over the river whooping, lets go, splashes, laughs. The light is a misty green and it all seems a dream, a time that never was.  The crowds march in subzero cold, breath freezing in nostrils, shoes squeaking on frozen snow as booted troops watch from…

By Laura Buxbaum I’ve been in a fog before – sailing ghostly quiet,listening for the buoy’s clang, blowinga feeble horn to warn the ferry or the lobstermanour small vessel is near, please don’t hurt us. Brain fog, too – what’s the word I’m looking for? Whoare you, do I know you, did our childrengo to…

By Em Arata-Berkel WARNING!Only burn on a level, fire-resistant surface.Burn with an extinguisher in sight.Keep away from flammable objects.Keep away from children, open windows, or heavily trafficked areas. BURNING INSTRUCTIONSAcknowledge the aspirations of a long wick, thentrim to a quarter inch before lighting.Savor the experience.Enjoy notes of smoke, wet concrete, pepper spray,and what you—the rugged…

By Rebecca Watkins Rebecca Watkins holds an MFA in poetry and an MSed from the City University of New York. Her creative nonfiction and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in Ginosko Literary Journal, the Quartet Journal, Hole in the Head Review, the Amethyst Review and the Amaranth Journal among other literary journals. Her creative nonfiction has been shortlisted for The Malahat Review’s Open…

Artist’s Statement The creation of this work was influenced by the changed situation in Europe. It was hard to believe that a war could still break out here in the 2020s. All of that was supposed to be over, history was not meant to repeat itself anymore. The fact that it did is still difficult…

By Laura Grace Weldon Even the book I bring is not enoughto keep me from watching the man taskedwith patient intake. He may be new to the jobor simply struggle with what’s required to cope in a time when everyone seems angry.  Whatever mysterious power transfers emotion is at work when I sign in at his window. I…

By Deborrah Corr They drone around the now browned bananas I forgot to eat when they were fresh and yellow. Air-born things with wings too tiny to be seen, black dots that can’t  be snatched from the air or smashed against the window, out of which I can see  the Trump flag flying from a house down the street.…

By Julie Gard My partner and I attended a memorial service in small-town Wisconsin, and there were grayscale American flags all around us, on the hats and t-shirts of serious young men. I am familiar with the thin blue line flag, and of course the Confederate flag. But most popular now, among a crowd that…

Birthday Yesterday at school,a boy touched himself in front of youhis eyes unfocusedas if he was there and not there.He looked right through youand then your body was not your own. Today you turned elevenand shrieked through a throng of friendswho threw their arms around youas you opened all your presents.I wanted to cry becauseI…

By Shannon Frost Greenstein Educational institutions have toxically indoctrinated students with the false premise that the United States is built upon “systemic and structural racism” and advanced discriminatory policies and practices. – U.S. Department of Education, Dear Colleague Letter: Title VI of the Civil Rights Act in Light of Students for Fair Admissions v Harvard…

By Sarah Gane Burton What we need nowis a woman who can tell a good storyone of those to-be-continued talesthat stretches night after nightdistracting the megalomaniacfrom his modus operandiof chaos and destruction. Send us Shahrazada fabled beauty telling fablesavoiding fatalitytaming madnesswith imagination and poiseand a bedtime storyfor an overgrown man-child. If Shahrazad is unavailablewe will…

By Mandy Prell Mandy Prell investigates the female body, sexuality, motherhood, marriage, and faith through a feminist lens. She holds a Master of Science in Education from Johns Hopkins and an IndieMFA in Advanced Poetry through Writing Workshops. Mandy lives with her daughters, spouse, and cats in a historic, haunted town in Kentucky where she…

By Phebe Jewell You didn’t think twice after dropping me into the ballot box outside the library. You were busy, and I was one more item to check off your list. Return books, vote, and then on to the grocery store for a dozen eggs and a head of lettuce. Still, I hope you felt…

By D. Edgar Cook We rallied for freedom:Freedom to speak, freedom to worship,Freedom to read, freedom to assemble.Let the bell ring! Let freedom ring!Clang the gong banging for freedom! We rallied for freedom:Freedom to print the truth to power.Freedom from unreasonable seizure.Let the bell ring! Let freedom ring!Clang the gong banging for freedom! A nation…

By Catherine Zickgraf keep doing that.Take candles into the thicket.Take lighters, make sparks. Elder statesmen tell us to hopebut can’t promise we’ll survive       to the other side of destruction. They see broadly,standing above the wild, staringdown through the tangled mess.I don’t see a way outbut want to trust they can. Here in the war of worlds, an…

By Alina Zollfrank To reduce this season to snapshots, headshots, gunshotsdoes not do them—what was that word again?—justice. Did (just-) abandon (-ice)? What makes for cold truth?Folded donut cartons?Warm cups of something sweet?Snow mounts, decorative and defensive?Does a candle vigil, a prayer poem, an obitmean we combine(just-) again with (-ice)? “It’s just ice,” my kids…

A Poem by Karen Crawford There was a dreama welcomea torcha flameA yearning to breathe freeNow a mask of men in unmarked carswilling to bend an arma kneeThere’s a missionshould they choose to accept itA priceshould they choose to collect itThere’s a feast at a Mexican restaurantafter dinner they’ll raid itThere’s news coveragethere’s pressureWithout fearWithout…