Part of a series of Native poetry collected by Mark Turcotte.
did you know trees grieve one another?
i wonder how long they hold grief in their bodies
i wonder how grief sticks in tree ring?
(poetry)
Category: Poetry
Part of a series of Native poetry collected by Mark Turcotte.
Your kitchen is transfigured, is wild rice soup and Lil Nas X
Your porch, a portal, re-applying lipstick
between each press to cigarette filters, to skin,
to handcheekforeheadjaw, to make sure you leave marks
(poetry)
And mirrored in the dilated,
upturned eyes, can you, she asks, see a room’s
bright window, panes of light. And can you see
how the selfsame light pours into us,
the shine of attention, of tenderness.
(poetry)
She used to talk nonstop, now she calls so little, asking strange questions. One time she asked him about that Wednesday morning in 1976. He was just fifteen then. She wasn’t even born yet! Crazy girl, cried over dead communists. What has she been doing in America? Countries kill their people all the time.
(poetry/No Place is Foreign)
Part of a series of Native poetry collected by Mark Turcotte.
I sat at his grave,
rearranging ever-present anger and decades old resentments into
drunken one night
stands, warring
with abstract and weak forgiveness.
(poetry)
This week, ACM is posting book reviews every weekday.
The book, at its core, follows the speaker’s daily journeys along a rugged mountain road over the course of a year, with the gravel thoroughfare and its environs serving much the way Thoreau’s Walden Pond once did— fueling reflections on humanity in general, and the present moment more specifically.
(reviews)
This week, ACM is posting book reviews every weekday.
Supposing there was any lingering hope that the modal interventions of capitalism might deliver us, as a whole, into a brighter, more sustainable future, well, Gilbert’s poems are here to announce the ethical insolvency of that hope—or, not only are we totally, irrevocably fucked, but the severe degree to which we are fucked has already reshaped our ecology, our futurity, our reality.
(reviews)
This week, ACM is posting book reviews every weekday.
Catrileo’s florid, visceral writing traverses the centuries—from the so-called Conquista, Spanish term for the brutal colonization of the Americas, to the modern-day capital city. It is a lyrical and nonlinear chronicle that spans the arrival of invaders armed with “old maps” and “steel fire” to urban streets studded with bars and patrolled by police known for their brutality.
(reviews)
This week, ACM is posting book reviews every weekday. This is the first.
The volume opens with an epigraph quoting Toi Derricotte, the co-founder of Cave Canem, an organization dedicated to the future of African American poetry: “Joy is an act of resistance.” We learn through these poems of the sheer joy of Black woman creativity, as well as the power of women speaking out against injustice and evil.
(reviews)
