Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
This Strange Continent Let’s write of our grandmothers. Mamaw always made biscuits. Her rings hung around her thin fingers like a rattle. With these hands that drove a munitions truck during the war, that beat her children, that hurled trash at Black children at the carnival in Northern Louisiana in the 1930s when they tried to enjoy it. Let’s write of our grandmothers and say…
part one: posed normajeanie’s room is open Norma sets her laptop on the old costume chest at the foot of the bed.[1] Socks pulled up to her knees, an ambiguous ring on her left hand—these are the things they like. ulikecashilikeass: nice to see u on again ulikecashilikeass: got that real special look Norma plays music. She doesn’t speak. She holds in reserve a shy…
I got you. These joints clean, bruh. Clean. Classic too. Jordan introduced these joints during the 1995 Eastern Conference Finals vs the Orlando Magic. Bulls lost that year. I know. Rodman wasn’t there yet. They’d go on to earn three more rings, of course. But don’t trip on that, mane. Cause these the kicks he laced up in the movie “Space Jam.” The joints that…
In this series of interviews, Jay Butler and Sarah Moffatt examine how recent antiracist activism has affected the publishing industry. Is diversity merely a marketing convention, or are publishers truly striving towards literary equity? As literary powerhouses rethink their roles as gatekeepers, we have set out to interview regional publishers to hear their side of the story. Joe Biel is the founder of Microcosm Publishing…
Please be advised that this story includes descriptions of self-harm and suicidal ideation. —The Editors For the past thirteen days I’ve been sleeping in the canoe hanging in our garage. The canoe is aluminum and wider than it is high, but still a canoe: a raised middle seam, two plank seats, and bars bracing the center. It’s suspended from the ceiling by pulleys, tied off…