Bubba (center) surrounded by her children and extended family (c. 1904-5) I am moved when people invoke their ancestors as fonts of wisdom and strength. I know so little about mine. My ancestral line comes to a halt three generations back in...
Feature
COFFEE AND CATASTROPHE
“I’m the last thing standing between you and the apocalypse.” – Hillary Clinton One of those mornings, portentous, dread-full. A sickly sky, as happens in September in LA, when the wind singes, and the light is yellow-weird more...
Three Poems by Kevin McIlvoy
Checklist sharpied on the inside lid of a hatbox This crèche will make nothing happen when you take the fourteen parts from the hatbox and unwrap the news of ‘42 covering 1) the manger made of tongue depressors given to Grandmother as a small...
Twenty Thousand Cedis
The day the wind came down and brought rain, we were hanging on a guava tree along the hospital road. Our backpacks were filled with fruits. The wind was strong and pushed a cow herd our way. In the distance, the hot steam mixed with dust, and the...
Two Poems by Martha Silano
Why Are You Always So Angry? Because your soul turned out to be soil. Because your wonderful is a wind drill. Because you surprised me with sulfide. Because you hiss like melting steel. Because instead of a case of tuna, you brought home a case of...