This is the first in our series of pieces inspired by the Democratic Party’s 2024 platform.
Unhappy with the garbage they were given, here they all came to exchange it for different garbage, and to perfume the warm December air with exhaust.
(fiction)
The winner of ACM’s second nonfiction contest:
Another way to think about a porch: as a threshold – a space one passes through on their way somewhere else, a waiting place, between in and out.
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books:
Tamil and English and a love of Jesus, porumaiyin sikaram, the pinnacle of patience, were drilled into them.
(fiction)
They stand in silence for a few minutes. Then his mother, in a whisper, exhales “shaman,” elongating the last syllable as if blowing cigarette smoke into the air.
(fiction)
Barnett stretches meaning in other poems to include celestial bodies and space programs as astronomical murmurs, and hauntings as the murmured warnings of systemic racism.
(review)
A renowned poet interrogates his colonized self.
(review)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books:
But in 1961, basketball coaches had yet to become gods. His office was only a little larger than a janitor’s closet.
That Childhood Continent Beyond Illumination are pieces from a larger suite of automatic drawing/poem paintings, intentionally completed in an afternoon.
(art and text)
Even when a partner tells me they like or love my parts, I’m too entrenched in shame about my labia to believe I could be desirable.
(nonfiction)
The novel is stamped with an epigraph: a quote from “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears. There’s an alchemy between the novel and the song that should not be overlooked—it adds an eeriness to Gråbøl’s profound yet distant prose as if the true emotion of the writing has been blunted by fear or pills.
(review)
