Writing is an act of resistance
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I See You
By Laura Martinez First you are “pollo” chicken. Then you are “illegal” just so much contraband or “alien” strange creature from another place to be feared. Less than human. I walk with you through the streets of Nogales, sit with you as you prepare for your journey, as you pray the rosary. I see
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Please, Be Safe
By Tyhi Conley Before they arrived, we were laughing, telling stories outside of the convenience store. Over the years, the store’s owner got to know us. He’d sold to us since we were kids buying dollar Arizona’s and 50 cent honey buns every summer day on our way to the pools, courts, or houses
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Poem Where I Mix-Up Fairy Tales
By Courtney LeBlanc Sometimes the wolf shows up in a suit, hair neat and tie perfect, teeth tucked into his mouth to mimic a sly smile. Sometimes he’s a friend, sometimes a stranger, sometimes a lover. Sometimes I crave the beast’s hands on my skin, sometimes I want his bite, sometimes I don’t want
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To the Racist in Line for Chinese Food at Safeway
By Ty.Brack Yes, you are racist. I know this because of the way you reduced Estefania and America to colored women. I know this because Estefania was helping me and America was helping you. You and I ordered the Express Special at the same time. Estefania returned with my container before America returned with
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Clutching at the Last Straw
By Dini Armstrong After consulting with the elders, they chose to buy Oideacha, approaching life on this tiny Scottish island with all the naivety and determination of youth. Quaker values still rang true to them when they signed on the dotted line: peace, simplicity, integrity, stewardship of the earth. Hamish had years of experience
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Indian Doll for Sale at the Thrift Store
By Heather Johnson A middle-aged woman, orange hair tightly permed, bones jostling within a threadbare corset, manhandles the wide-eyed Native doll—hands pet imitation-buckskin fringe dress, sewn with plastic beads. A smile parts lips like the sheer cut of a razor as she rubs her thumbs over the doll’s sprayed-on brown skin—as his fingers explored
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Nuclear Family
Chris Vannoy, a San Diego-based poet, believes that art is essential to the advancement of society. As a poet and a visual artist he has strived to release his imagination into the world for its enjoyment.
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Two poems by Cheryl Dumesnil
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First Day of College Classes, 2036
By John Sheirer “Good morning, everyone,” the professor said looking out at the enthusiastic room full of vibrant young people. She pulled up a class roster on her palm-sized tablet. “When I call your first name, please raise your hand. Okay? First up is Ashley.” “Here,” a woman in the back row called out.