Poetry & Short Fiction
Shatterd by by bullets; shiny glass facades Shitty coffee poured in environment-friendly cups. Sports cars on crumbling asphalt And, high-end brands walking in a seiged air
To a Suburbia Called Ramallah
A poem by Adele Jarrar.
Your refusal might enrage the master. He might abuse you, and call you a parasite for refusing to do any work after eagerly swallowing the food last night. Become even more determined. Sit tight.
Two recipes / poems by Rajyashri Goody; with audio reading.
intersectional feminist hands me a copy of how to talk about raceREAD
recites a land acknowledgment
to honor the native tribes
who have been displaced
to make space for the organic açaí bar we frequent
A Poem by Nina Mufleh; with audio-video-text reading.
I wake up on somedays In houses with patched walls And a bucket with water in the middle of nowhere On beds with no sheets And stamped up cockroaches at the edge of the bed My hand’s in a pile of ash And my glasses are lost in someone else’s hair I smell smoke and hear snores The only clean thing in the room is a gleaming red guitar
Friends and Their Homes
A poem and artwork by Priyanka Paul.
We hugged each other tightly and quickly let go. With no hope of seeing each other we cried, “Hope to see you soon.”
A Journey to Kandahar
Two poems by Elyas Alavi
Sister! We are dripping with rageREAD
a diamond in the shape of a tongue
it blinds, gives life, so sharp it cuts
A poem by Golnoush Noor; with audio-video reading.
it takes only one time of writing something to call yourself a writer but how long until the title is revoked? just how much non-writing must one indulge in in order to be punishingly excluded? is it a week, a month, a year? or is it until all writing utensils are out of harm’s way, no longer kept at an arm’s reach, or worse, simply no longer reached for?
A poem by Vanessa Kowalski: with audio reading.
even though no one can quite name it everyone knows that something is monstrously missing from me
Two Poems by Yusra Amjad. Illustration by Priyanka Paul.
After going missing for three months, Lisa, Suddenly appears at my midnight window. “I have an idea. A very bad idea” She whispers through the bars. I, both waking and dreaming Forgot to ask the important questions. “What? Tell me”.
A poem by Aleena; with audio reading.