by Elaine Equi This is not just about keeping busy. I miss you. Even if we never spoke, or were only briefly underground, overhearing each other’s music, breathing shared-air together – the loss is profound. Walking down an empty avenue in spring, I miss you. Elaine EquiElaine Equi is the author of many books including
by W. D. Ehrhart George School (long ago, but still not long enough) My memories of that place are mostly anything but good. An oxymoron: Quaker institution. All the right—the righteous—words, a piece of the Peaceable Kingdom, but just another institution in the end: hypocritical, duplicitous, all smiles. “Speak truth to power,” but we don’t
by Marc Alan Di Martino I wake up lipstick-smeared in someone’s bed. Black coffee bites my tongue, still stung with wine, flows down the broken throttle of my throat; its acid slithers through my small intestine. I crouch in the kaleidoscopic dawn an animal, afraid to move, still drunk. I look around at what must
by Gregory Crosby On Seeing the Donald Judd Show at MoMA During the Pandemic No one ever thinks outside the box, unless it’s an oblong box, or a sculpture designed in one mind but fabricated by others. So much is fabricated by others. Is America a good idea poorly executed, or a bad idea brought
by Susana H. Case Boy crazy, the doctor tsked— the phrase lodged in my mother’s throat, as she made sure she heard, repeating it correctly. She was easily fooled by the right diplomas. He prescribed black and aqua pills. I lost time in there; days ballooned away from me. Life is a candy stand with
by Peter Neil Carroll I like talking to strangers when I travel though limit my curiosity to chit-chat, so yesterday on the plane to New York I noticed a light-haired flight attendant whose Irish face reminded me of Caroline Kennedy. I asked in a friendly way if she was leaving home or heading home. She
by Kara Arguello We were over before the first plane hit. I just hadn’t told him yet. There would be no wedding party in mountain air, no wine-soaked dancing in the lodge. Life was a marathon of laughs turning to quarrels in bars, cigarettes, smashed dashboards, hangover mornings in a narrow bed. I wanted to
by Kara Arguello Ease up Calm down Soften up Back down Hush up Simmer down Tighten up Slim down Wake up Quiet down Toughen up Lie down Shape up Settle down Wise up Tied down Fucked up Not beaten down Kara ArguelloKara Arguello was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and now lives, works, cooks,
by Jordi Alonso Rumi and Khayyam sang of god––or wine; Fitzgerald and Millay both liked their gin with or without a twist of Persian lime Dorothy Parker played bridge to drink and win, and Oscar Wilde was fond of chilled champagne. Poor Dylan Thomas had a glass of rye too many and though he did
by Leeore Schnairsohn CHAPTER ONE In the beginning it was all machines. Excavators dug channels through the wrecks of hotels and restaurants that coated the beach. Drones picked through the smaller pieces, hunting human remains before the waves or seagulls could get them. Bulldozers organized the concrete and plaster into hills the size of apartment