Tag: From the archive
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DETROIT POETS
Detroit is a writing city. Through grit, camaraderie, and history, Detroit writers craft language that is some of the most stirring and resonant writing in contemporary American poetry…
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TWO POEMS by Tommye Blount
Tommye Blount is the author of the chapbook What Are We Not For (Bull City Press). Fantasia for the Man in Blue (Four Way Books), Tommye’s debut full-length collection was finalist for the National Book Award…
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THE OCULARIST by Alise Alousi
Alise Alousi’s work has appeared most recently in Museum of Americana and is forthcoming in the anthology, We Call to the Eye & the Night (Persea)…
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VERDIGRIS by Mariana Sabino
Four years had passed since I returned to this building, the old city, and the old job. At work digitizing the poster of another Czech New Wave film—this one depicting algae sprouting from a woman’s head, dark eyes sparkling with silver pin lights that reminded me of plankton—my heart started racing so fast I handed…
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ASHES by Nandita Naik
The river Ganga seethes with ashes. We shove our elbows into each other’s sides, muscle our way in to look. The bodies of our grandmothers and grandfathers burn on the cremation ghats. We watch them become less like bodies and more like a collection of burning fabric and bone marrow and veins turning into ash.…
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INTERVIEW WITH K-Ming Chang
I first read K-Ming Chang’s writing in 2018, back when I was Fiction Editor of Nashville Review. Her story, “Meals for Mourners/兄弟”, captured my attention with its embodied, elemental language and stirring portrait of family life. Since that time, Chang has written a novel, a chapbook, and a story collection, among other projects. Currently, she…
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GIRLS OF LEAST IMPORTANCE by K.K. Fox
It wasn’t like you think. Charlie Todd was one of the most popular candidates going through Rush that year, even with a limp and a useless hand. We tried not to stare, but her left arm was lifeless, paralyzed, and her hand curled at the end like a comma. She hit her head in a…
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THE LUCKY ONES by Hananah Zaheer
Ever since Abba died, a girl has been living in my mouth. Mostly, she sits on my tongue and watches me do my homework or make houses with old cereal boxes. When Amma makes me write receipts for the laundry business she runs out of our living room, the girl helps me count. “I want…
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HEARTWOOD by Rose Skelton
On the day after Hazel died – it was a Tuesday afternoon in early March – George stood at his woodworking bench, whittling a bowl. He pressed the piece of yew down, and used a bowl gouge to scoop a smooth sliver of the pinkish-white wood so that it curled upwards and away, falling…
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Three Poems by Benjamin Miller
IN THE PLACE OF BEST INTENTIONS As this is not the land of ice packs and regenerations, of spent glue guns or antiseptic counters—since shy reminders filter through the streets…
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Three Poems by Brian Komei Dempster
CROSSING No turning back. Deep in the Utah desert now, having left one home to return to the temple of my grandfather. I press the pedal hard. Long behind me, civilization’s last sign—