Poetry & Prose
We never would have heard the beat if Jim had not forgotten his hat,
In our bedroom at Casa Brandaritz,
The old farm house, built in the 16th century,
“I don’t care what you’ve heard,”
she said, “because you may have heard
something different than I.
Old leaves survived, dead, well into spring.
I’ve outlived myself again.
It was the second round of flashlight tag. We’d been screeching up a storm of fake horror since the sun set. Beth was “it.” I ran far away from her and crouched behind a headstone at the edge of the cemetery grounds near the field.
The Congolese musicians arrived. They went immediately into their complex bongo, conga, and chakra rhythms, making their opening sequence a tribute to their African deities. This was accompanied by a lively dance, performed by lithe, agile male and female dancers, each of whom had obviously been honing their craft since childhood.
Luciann Berrios' debut collection bursts out from "under the shadow of a memory," offering not simply poems but chronicles of movement, forward and backward in time.
"Chavisa Woods' Things to Do When You're Goth in the Country is part Flannery O'Connor, part Kelly Link: darkly funny and brilliantly human, urgently fantastical and implacably realistic."
I’ve given it time, as if time were mine to give.
There was a dam, larger than Hoover or the President or the patent
For the metal creature that sucks up all the dust.
You're left with a choice
To gather remnants
Of what you once loved
This year, the zeitgeist spells split selves. More and more of life is lived across media, says the closest cultural majority. We, as in me, are fraying across platforms.
I think my earliest memory as far as I can see was being beheld by Mahatma Gandhi.
Yes, the very one.
Do you do cocaine? Have you ever tried it? Don’t lie. Molly? E? how about weed? Nothing wrong wit alil puff puff pass to help the time past right?
Say, U are into modes – in your solitude – the A train – Coltrane – The F train – The D – straight to Queens – traveling undersound of Jazz – Like, Jazz me, Jazz me baby, all night long!
Recently I moved to Stuyvesant, New York, a small farming community, about 25 miles south of Albany on the Hudson River. I used to live in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Peter Stuyvesant, the last Director General of the Dutch colony of New Netherlands, named the area Boswijck in 1661.
My first day on the job I stacked tangelos and I thought yes I am the best at this, it’s so easy but I am a natural and it is like this
Orchids in the moonlight
In the year of the monkey