Boy Bye By Lauren Marie Scovel Lauren Marie Scovel is a Boston-based bookseller and editorial assistant. She graduated from Emerson College with degrees in Writing, Literature, Publishing and Theatre Studies. This photograph was taken with a Promaster 2500PK Super film camera at the Women's March in Washington D.C.
By Mirza Sakit İblis döl salıbdı, Şeytan bələkdə, Şərlənən məmləkət yıxılmaqdadı Altun qolbağılar əyri biləkdə, Düz bilək qandalda sıxılmaqdadı Abır da gözləyib çəkdin pərdəni, Halal buğda əkdin, indi ver dəni Oğrunun əliylə "Şöhrət" ordeni, Namərd yaxasına taxılmaqdadı Dədəsin gizlədən buzda xəlvəti, Sən də gözləyirsən ondan mürvəti Tanrının verdiyi Xalqın sərvəti, Sırtılmış üzlərə yaxılmaqdadı Mirzə söylədikcə dürüst [...]
By Linda Parsons Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, you’re rockin’ the boat. —Frank Loesser, Guys and Dolls Lo these [...]
By Maggie Downs Gather your ingredients. You’ll need peanut butter, jelly, the bread of your choice, and a clean, sharp knife. Spread peanut butter evenly onto one side of the bread using your knife. Acknowledge the fact that the winner of our constitutionally legitimate but antiquated electoral process is a person who threatens democracy on [...]
By Lily Moody Pink or blue When our daughters are taught to hold their tongues and our sons are taught to hold their tears, when all we want to do is scream and sob. Pink or blue When dolls and toy trucks, bows and baseball gloves are used as barriers to separate us, when femininity and [...]
By Eduardo Escalante 1. close into symbols The city looked full artery of Santiago choked with cars a tatted man was standing in front of a tree Affirmed to a symbol in this street there was no crosswalk his body jumped It seemed 3d drawing We can leave we can look the tattoo is the sign [...]
By Marydale Stewart I sent my heart, that figurative muscle, that metaphor, that emblem, to go in my stead to Standing Rock where my feet have never known the steady earth, that certain sky, the remembered places the wind has been, where I’ve never known another living being as my own, where the people came together [...]
By Sarah Einstein Like a good citizen, I call my senators at least once a week these days, but their aides are brusque. They tell me that Alexander and Corker support the president’s education agenda/healthcare reform/immigration order or whatever I’m outraged about on a given day. In the first few weeks, they’d thank me for [...]
By Laura Grace Weldon The powerful provoke the powerless to push against one another. Their power grows by keeping us in all kinds of prisons. Yet we are not powerless. Remember the black bear roaming Clarion County, Pennsylvania, its head trapped a month or more in a metal-ringed pail. Remember those who chased it for hours, [...]
By Keith Welch the U.S. Caucasian has a marvelous power invisible, noticed only by its absence subtle in action: the lack of a shadow following you through a 7-11 or utterly, terribly clear: the lack of 19 bullet holes piercing your body on the news, you may notice your senior photo instead of a mug [...]
Writers Resist is delighted to welcome our new poetry editor, Ruth Nolan, MFA, University of California Riverside. Already a contributing writer, Ruth brings to the journal a deep understanding of the power of the written word. Ruth said of poetry’s role in the resistance, “Poetry is at heart a political entity, one that is both personal [...]
By Lea Grover I come from a people of wandering, of desert paths swept clean of footprints by thousand year gusts of wind, of vanishing, of villages abandoned as not only my great-grandmothers but I carried what mattered across oceans and borders and the ticking of latitude and longitude beneath tired feet, soles hardened by lifetimes [...]
By R.W.W. Greene Joanne’s television remote hit the wall hard, spawning batteries and bits of plastic that chose their own paths to the floor. She flicked the switch on the power strip that governed the media center and picked up the tarnished hourglass she’d readied before tuning into the ceremony. Four years would likely be [...]
By Mark J. Mitchell I’m guided by the beauty of our weapons. —"First We Take Manhattan" I’m battered by the blindness of our weapons. Boys stare at screens and tickle switches. Death drops from the sky onto archaic altars. Isaac screams. Ishmael burns. Rachel weeps for her children. From the empty office, ritual words: [...]
By Dianne Olsen Her name is the color of bright yellow sunflowers, the scent of dusky sage. Her intense black hair absorbs the sun. She stands close, her hand clutching mine, Flora, my mother, my friend, my accompaniment to life. I am a bubble of laughter from her lips a note of joy tossed in the [...]
