I am writing to ask if you’d like to dance again in the kitchen. I have never been much for a phone call, as you know. I was thinking I could bring boas and peacock flumes for our shoulders and the waists of our pants. All the times you’ve tried to teach me the Charleston
The photo above was taken on West North Avenue in Baltimore City—right outside of Mondawmin. I was pursuing a photo series of the artist Iandry, a 2009 MICA graduate whose art decorates the city. He was painting the “Wall of Wisdom,” a mural which consists of six portraits of historical change makers: Frederick Douglass, Matthew
Let’s speak of the grizzly bear in the middle of the room. Thick black rambutan branches dripping citrus under the sun. What extra powers are suppressed beneath? Lulling opponents to sleep with each bend against the wind. Hope is lost if you stare directly into the void because by then, arms will outstretch to consume
A swing brushes the cement low, in slow motion, as if drawn through night’s deep syrup, as if burdened, holding the dark ball of a child hidden in the twilight’s smeary sleight of hand. They must be there: it’s some trick of the bare winter branches and sallow moonlight. Their shivering laughter rattles like dead
I’ve been a huge fan of Kyle Dargan’s poetry ever since I first read Honest Engine, his fourth collection of poetry, for a school internship. This was my introduction to Dargan, who I now consider one of the most important young voices in poetry in the D.C. area, and maybe anywhere. In addition to writing
One: Evan Nicholls can live in it. He can wave to an orgy of cows under the field oak. Nod to the bull on the hill. Sleep back in the steel bed, by nobody or somebody. Two: Evan Nicholls can kill in it. Probably on accident, a person or himself. The mathematics of
The following interview is with Andi McIver, the author of “Ubuntu,” which will appear in our next issue. “Ubuntu” is an amazing nonfiction essay about the life of McIver as she grows up in South Africa, a place still haunted with the remnants of Apartheid, having only just institutionally ended in the early 90s. “Ubuntu”
Freedom Day The first ever truly democratic election in South Africa’s history took place on April 27, 1994 – just over eight months before I was born. My mother must have been pregnant with me. This is somehow the first time I’m realizing this. Although Apartheid claimed its official chokehold on South Africa in
Those of us hailing from that oddly shaped mid-Atlantic state haphazardly carved into the east coast of America are probably familiar with the strange phenomenon that coincides with traveling either north or south from our homeland. I’ve been as far as Massachusetts in one direction and the tip of Florida in the other. At a
* Not the first time I loved you, just the first time I met you. Your breath like dead fish pickled in your alcoholism. Your knuckles raw from beating someone up the night