Archive for July, 2009

An Interview with Khadijah Queen

Rabbits aren’t necessarily cute and cuddly like the Easter bunny. For example, I didn’t know rabbits made any sounds at all until I researched them. In fact they have a very loud, grating scream if threatened. A mother rabbit will kill her own young (thinking them enemies) if touched too soon by humans. So rabbits are vulnerable and soft, but they do also have the ability and impulse to fight back and even to. »

Nonfiction by Sara Dailey

In the few pictures there are of her as a child, her smile is a fixed gleam, tongue swallowing both sun and her father’s secret, how a wolf could wear the clothes of a man, his rumpled shirts and scent of farm, have the same big hands that killed chickens and crushed berries into blackberry wine. Looking at the oldest of the photos, taken when she was only five or six, feels to me like staring at a ghost. That girl has gone from her—like a chameleon might shed its skin, this second self has also been shed, like she’s tried to shed all traces of her rural upbringing, her knowledge of farm life and poverty in equal. »

Poetry by Rick Hale

It began with a lemon tree.
I broke its pot and put it outside
right next to my house.

A whole jungle lunged up around it.

I used to be able to recognize it
in the jaguar shade of the tree. »

Poetry by Joshua Tung

9, Slash 11,
huge cigarettes, alight
leaving trails of themselves to burn in the air.
Choking.
I wasn’t there.
Maybe you were.
But I saw it on TV with my. »

Fiction by Melissa Chadburn

I heard the priest place his palm on the wooden shelf. He was waiting. I never did well with silences. I had to say something.

I smiled nervously and thought this is strange and funny but sort of sexy. Could be a great kinky sex scene with my new lover.

It was early evening at St. Augustin’s church in Boyle Heights, CA. A rehearsal for my secretary’s wedding. The jacaranda trees had left a light purple trail on the maroon carpeting that adorned the entrance. The wedding party sat in pews awaiting their turns to. »

Fiction by Brian Alan Ellis

Later you sat on your bed and, mesmerized by the intestinal goop she’d left for you, drank an entire bottle of wine, which is how much wine it took to even consider removing such remnants. Regardless, her mess had to go. So with moth-bitten Sisters of Mercy tour shirt in hand, you attacked, and were struck with the abrupt urge to taste the opaque puddle. (It didn’t smell; the alcohol had impaired your senses, either making you braver or stupider or both.) So you knelt down close—tongue outstretched—looking like some crazy. »

Poetry by Ginger Ko

I was whistling for Mint to drive the goats back to the pen,
Brushing off mud splattered on the back of my legs
When your father called to tell me you were coming home.
Two weeks later I flew in and drove from the airport
To Jefferson and 55th, mounting and dismounting
The freeway clover knots in the warp and weft of the. »

Poetry by Saeed Jones

It Means Something Different in Arabic
for Terrance Hayes

Once, I threw a towel over my head and pretended I was Mary.
My aunt told me that pretending was blasphemy. A burnt cross
lit in my chest that day, but they say my name
first appeared in reluctantly opened love letters. »