Writing is an act of resistance
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A Simple Act
By Erin Edwards It is a simple act to stand in the middle of the road. Simple, but effective. A car either has to stop and wait or run you down—and it just wouldn’t do for a hearse carrying the body of a former government official to accelerate towards a woman in the middle
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What I Learn
By Lorna Rose I listen to the sweaty silence, his throbbing presence as he stares at my developing chest. I learn to calculate the tides. Learn his breath smells like mints when he’s offering me up. Men’s gazes have teeth. Pivot and scan for the response he wants at the appropriate time. You’re pretty.
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Everyone Tells Me
By Alma A. Everyone tells me It wasn’t my fault, That karma will get him, Will leave him to rot. Everyone tells me I should have fought harder, And why did I wear that, I was asking for trouble. Everyone tells me, That ‘no’ isn’t binding, It’s fluid, it’s blurred, I am overreacting. Filthy,
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Fury
By Skye Wilson I want to break his bones for what he did. No metaphors, just snap against my skin; pain blooming in his eyes like burns on flesh. I’ll scorch all of the skin he touched me with. I want to grow to twice my usual size, drink in the pain and terror
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The Failed Real Estate Caper
By Sue Katz The first thing Miriam noticed when the taxi dropped her off at Ruby’s house was the For Sale sign on the lawn. She took a magic marker out of her handbag and wrote “NOT” in capital letters, but it turned out too faint to be easily seen. “It’s the thought that
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Two Poems by Ron Dowell
We Are What We Shine after J. Venters and M. Barajas Bright as a jewel, we are what we shine. A gang’s red-blue color-coded word clash Compton’s graffitied not-so “Welcome” sign. Compton Court obliterates the blue skyline, Angeles Abbey minarets, brown grass, like burnished silver, we are what we shine. We suffer potholed streets
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Search Terms
By Holly Stovall I opened the search bar, typed in “middle-aged women support Black Lives Matter” and narrowed the results to “images.” Google spit out a white couple, on the stairway in front of their mansion, pointing guns at protesters marching by. It’s not what I was looking for, but Google taunted me—Aren’t you
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Letter to Aminu
By Ololade Akinlabi Ige After Salawu Olajide Dedicated to my country, Nigeria What greets you when you get here? Walls of broken spines? Fences of bleeding bruises? Burnt roofs that open mouths? Windows with wounded hearts? Your father was a victim of the last bomb explosion and his grave grows mushroom flowers. Your
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War Ghazal
a war ghazal, Linda Laderman, Russia war against Ukraine, Russian aggression, Volodymyr Zelensky, PoetryBy Linda Laderman Again, we witness panicked people fleeing war. You tell me, people don’t care, it’s Ukraine’s war. Sitting in an Ann Arbor bistro, we order baked Turkish eggs, & I mumble, even Turkey opposes this war. One booth over, a woman applies siren red lipstick, then gestures at the screen over the