Yo-ho! Consequently, this is the final bi-weekly issue of Writers Resist. Although we have other things in the works, we want to pause to thank the hundreds of writers, artists, donors, and volunteer editors, who have lived the last four years with us, raging and weeping and laughing—and hoping. K-B, if she could, would also thank [...]
and Black Lives Matter By Patricia Aya Williams From the un-masked and (turtled nooks) of home to the socially - distanced and sanitized patios of coffeeshops, I greet you. The world spins on an axis of livid proclaiming and bulleted majesty while vultures circle the [...]
Running away My mouth is full of mice. I can't talk or protest. I was born in the darkest spot of the world. My people hate the sun. They put the weight of the world on my tiny shoulders. When I was young, I was a great talker, but when I became 12 years old, they [...]
By Mary F. Lenox I can’t breathe the words said written on a waste container near the sidewalk I wondered what other unheard voices say I can’t breathe Dying fish of the sea echo I can’t breathe as they navigate through plastic and oil invaders Birds call out through polluted air I can’t breathe Children [...]
By William Palmer I found an old mask on the ground and stood in line. At a table I handed a woman a scrap of paper with my name on it and my old address. She scrunched her face to check it while a big guy behind her wearing a white mask with red and [...]
By Claire Sexton It’s an insight the menopause has gifted to me. The knowledge that my body belongs wholly to me. At last I can own my own body. At last I don’t need to parade for boys or girls. I can walk around my flat freely. I can look in the mirror without flinching. [...]
By Nicole Tanquary There is a coastal village called Elmina. An abandoned slave castle sits at the village’s highest point. The castle walls stand in stark white stone that burns in the sun, the paint achingly fresh—the castle is now a museum, and it has money to keep itself restored, more than can be said [...]
By Ruth Hoberman Memorial Day, we wore white gloves to hold the flag. Songs fluttered in our lungs like helium: we were pilgrim and witch, Crockett and Quaker, the slave, the raft, the shore. We were eleven, rich in Sousaphones and common wealth, so sure of where the river went, we’d beg our teachers to [...]
