by Rick Blum
I was listening to talk radio the other day when a Trump supporter called in to complain that collectively we’ve gone off
the rails: too many broken homes, too much political correctness, too few morals to guide our public (and private) behavior.
Her prescription was … view
for the past few years my poetry has become more engaged with the writing of fact, not so much with the relation of fact to truth but with “figures of fact,” that is the rhetoric of fact, the pushing around of language to take up positions about what … view
Edward Austin Hall
Call my phone one time too many in short succession and something odd happens. A fax machine answers.
For readers to whom the phrase fax machine is cryptic, think: analog device for turning telephonic signals into really shitty print documents.
Because I have trouble throwing shit away … view
When I was six, my Nanny decided to tell me my birth story. I know her intention was to tell me how much she loved me.
I didn’t know then about self-filtering mechanisms, about choosing words carefully, or editing what you say to sensitive children who, no matter … view
Hester L. Furey
They say this was Napoleon’s card.
After WWII the Eisenhower-led liberal conservatives came home and set about installing some of Hitler’s improvements, starting with the interstate highway system. That transportation artery is known in Chicago as “the Stevenson” and “the Eisenhower.” Here in Georgia, we call it … view
The immense scale of the vast steppe, open vistas and the sense of emptiness, made me aware of the smallness and humbleness of the human scale. The total sensory void has a cleansing effect on my soul. The featureless landscape readjusted my mind and the gut-shaking, bone-rattling rides on bumpy … view
The strangest thing about Robert is how his voice changed in the years after he died. In the beginning, it was the wailing of a newborn infant, always at the other end of the house from where I was. Sometimes, the voice laughed – the happiest little infant giggles from … view
Althea Natalga Sumpter
Two of my brothers and I like to sit among our friends and tell stories of growing up in the country, on an island surrounded by marshland off the coast of South Carolina. The ’50s and ’60s have their own place in history, but not all my … view
“Blessed are Those Who Mourn, for They Will be Comforted.” Matthew 5:12
He has to choose. I sit cross-legged and motionless praying in the corner of my son’s hospital room, my breast milk rejected because his 5-week old body hasn’t the energy to stay alive and to suckle … view
America’s perpetual war on its young men reached one of its peaks in the mid-1960s. The horror of Godless Communism led to the Vietnam draft; for fortunate sons who could elude it, America’s fears of miscegenation (rock’n’roll), euphoria (dope), and queerness (long hair) provided another set of threats … view