Writing is an act of resistance
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The Rise of a Martyr
By Bänoo Zan For Nika Shakarami 1 At your memorial 2 the Luri 3 song echoed on speakers: “Mother, mother, it’s time for war . . .” 4 Today would have been your birthday Forty days before on the streets of Tehran dead girl—living God— burning your hijab— darkness on fire— your Derafsh-e Kavian
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The Revolution Is Wherever We Are
By Andrea Dulanto I. Yes, I wore the thrift store T-shirts, the torn fishnets, but I was no riot grrrl. I was already in my twenties when I read about riot grrrls in Newsweek, too old to write manifestoes on my body. No, it was more like I was too afraid of music that gets
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Birthday Wishes
By Phoenix Ning Sixteen-year-old person of color desires escape from this inferno where dark-skinned individuals burn, and alabaster spectators cheer from the sidelines, popping confetti guns and feeding oil to ancient flames while claiming to be long-awaited saviors. Eighteen-year-old student desires world history classes with curriculums that celebrate African kingdoms, Indigenous empires, and South
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(Judges 19) Remembering the Concubine
By Emma Goldman-Sherman After being done to by the pack of men after she collapsed at the threshold of the old man’s shack after her master discovered her there unresponsive he cut her up with his sharpened axe not for nothing, not for hate, to get everyone’s attention crying the way men cry when
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Hi
By Rachel Rodman “I’m just saying. I’m a nice guy. I just want to say HI. And you’re going to accept this greeting whether you fucking like it or not.” —Elon James White, from a now deleted Twitter account “Hi,” he demanded. He waited, while everyone watched; he waited with a smile, because
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Where My Family Is From
By Howie Good Artist’s statement: My family originated in Eastern Europe. Any member who did not emigrate prior to the rise of the Nazism—my maternal grandmother’s parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins—were exterminated in the death camps during World War II. No record of exactly what befell them or where was ever discovered, despite
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Yet Another Poem About Trees
By Larry Needham “Ah, what an age it is When to speak of trees is almost a crime For it is a kind of silence about injustice!” —Bertolt Brecht, “To Posterity” Before the jar the anecdote and Tennessee, wilderness. Forests primeval, grim and awful— extravagant as first growth imaginings. The Dark Ages. Then dominion
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U-turn
Sarah Waldner, cliamte change, renewable energy, COP27, Poetry, climate crisis, global warming, fossil fuelsBy Sarah Waldner Sharp U-turn on the language around fossil fuels. The text now includes a reference to “low emission and renewable energy.” New funding arrangement on loss and damage. Phase-down of unabated coal power. Concrete demonstration that we really are all in this together. No one will be left behind. Sharp concern on
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Global Outcry
Congo, Poetry, Ethiopia, refugees, Sudan, Nigeria, Haiti, climate migrants, Russian war in Ukraine, Dominica, Syrian refugees, Amal El-Sayed, Afghan women, Iraqi women, Mexican immigrants, cartel violence, PalestineBy Amal El-Sayed A wave of blue and yellow— A sea of sky and grain Washed all over the world. Braving snowstorms and epidemics, You marched in the name of peace. A row of strollers lying in wait In Poland, in Slovakia. Supplies, donations, support. Homes—opening Families—welcoming The whole world—enclosing Ukraine with love. So