THE LETTERS WERE ONCE BODIES: A CONVERSATION WITH NATALIE DIAZ

Natalie Diaz was born in the Fort Mojave Indian Village in Needles, California. She is Mojave and an enrolled member of the Gila River Indian community. She is the author of the poetry collection When My Brother Was an Aztec (2012). Her honors and awards include the Nimrod/Hardman Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry, the Louis … Continue reading THE LETTERS WERE ONCE BODIES: A CONVERSATION WITH NATALIE DIAZ

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BENEATH THE INOCULATOR, UP MAIN STREET

Sam Asher Half-way into the forest is the centre for disheartened educators, full of supply teachers, and superintendents, and janitors who cleaned up too much heave. Once, our CEO got them passes to our park, and they wandered cautiously around the exhibits, being very careful to obey all the rules. The interaction from them hardly … Continue reading BENEATH THE INOCULATOR, UP MAIN STREET

PARTICIPATION

S. Brook Corfman Do you know what it is to absence? How the moon curls away from itself into the blanket of sky? Look in turn at each exile, how each alone returns to the house, if each returns. The calendar's pages fall all out of order and even the fruit supports the war. Israel … Continue reading PARTICIPATION

PROSOPOPOEIAN

S. Brook Corfman O bright box, ripping, M. Moore wrote red flowers will not make red wine but I tried anyway, pressed them and ate them with eggs for breakfast. Counterintuitively, particularly bright colors often last longer than "regular" colors when left in the sun; it is not about intensity—there is less fading because the … Continue reading PROSOPOPOEIAN

POPS OF RED

Gretchen VanWormer When we were little, my sister Heidi and I used to wake in the morning and find tiny bottles nestled in the soft pink blankets at the foot of our beds—presents from our mother, who worked the night shift in the NICU. I wondered at the impossibly small bodies our mother held in … Continue reading POPS OF RED

THE PACHUCO’S GRANDSON CONSIDERS THE SILVERSUN PICKUPS’ ALBUM DIANA LENT HIM SEVEN YEARS AGO

Michael Torres Love needs a chaperone. Alone now, the pachuco’s grandson holds the CD, and waits for the sky to tell him what to do. God knows how to make a sign out of anything: a song played for the fifth time that day; petals you pluck from a flowerhead. Yesterday, his homie said, Diana … Continue reading THE PACHUCO’S GRANDSON CONSIDERS THE SILVERSUN PICKUPS’ ALBUM DIANA LENT HIM SEVEN YEARS AGO