Lek Borja Seized lies my body in the latitude of her sex How her desire shines like luminescence in the sea as if the moon were inside it, as in every hour where we enter together Tenderly sink then float longingly so My eyes follow her journey down to its end With her tears I … Read more
Sarah Long My body is an ever-changing clock— spastic springs and gears never settling, never keeping proper time. Bodies carry bodies in pockets, on chains like skin-scented heirlooms. When my grandmother died, she left me her first kiss, the ticking sound of summer asphalt and peach fuzzed legs. I see my mother’s handwriting on … Read more
Jane Cassady Is there anything we can go in and get for you before we board it up? Before the window plywood gets its eventual graffiti, before you wash the clothes in Pine Sol to get out the smell of smoke, before a loving friend helps fold those clothes, so specifically and kindly, … Read more
The Winter 2011 issue features Creative Nonfiction from Micaela Seidel, Genre X from Sarah Long, and Poetry from Lek Borja, Michelle “Strawberry” Heymann, Wednesday Hobson, and Jessica Kincade
I judge myself deeply, harshly – don’t allow courtesy given others, thoughtless tortured by tumultuous thoughts, ticking driving negativity nails through, aching begging, the merciless obsession eradicated, relentless screaming behind frozen stare, scared floods back like recoiling toes from cold water, endless forgiveness, permission – breathe and be, redemption when … Read more
I need a camera, to my eye, to my eye, reminding which lies I’ve been hiding -Wilco, “Kamera” There is profuse proof of my existence after age 10. My photographic life begins awkward, barely pre-teen. Band concerts, summer camping, middle-school portraits of me with braces, family pets, all chronologically ordered into albums; a … Read more
At the observation station observers tried observing themselves making observations and were impressed by the results. A film loop of a loop of film being filmed in a loop. For scientific purposes, some said. For posterity said others, to preserve in our selves the making of ourselves, as seen in the making. Doesn't everyone … Read more
Characters Antonio- Cheerful, 41 year old single Italian man looking for a long-term relationship.He feels numb when the subject of HIV status arises on his dates.He has been positive for eighteen years, and that fact is beginning to make him feel like an outsider in some social situations.He hates dating for this reason.He … Read more
210 Freeway Eastbound Los Angeles seems to reinvent itself after a good rainstorm. With days of dreary downpour finally over, the sun is out, the sky is a shade of blue I don’t recall, and the mountains show off now that their veil of smog has been removed. I want to roll down all my … Read more
1. Our mother calls me to come and look at her. That is how we begin. “Say something,” she says. She tries to sound petulant, but her image in the full-length mirror makes her smile. “A sheath,” I offer, cross-legged on the floor. I hold a pillow on my lap despite the heat. Our mother … Read more
for Lawrence King, 1992-2007 Teens bully deans, bash desks like Queens christen ships, graduation gowns break out in a gospel song, to heal neglected punched lips; boys grow … Read more
And it seemed that, just a little more—and the solution would be found, and then a new, beautiful life would begin; and it was clear to both of them that the end was still far off, and that the most complicated and difficult part was just beginning. Anton Chekhov The Lady with the Little Dog … Read more
We were seventeen when I paid for my best friend’s abortion, helped answer the doctor’s questions, drove her to my house, lay by her side while she slept. A coworker had her tubes tied after her second C-section, said her husband always wanted girls. The janitor no longer says my name, only: So, are … Read more
We celebrate New Year’s Eve in San Salvador, city of hammocks, where streets are littered with firecrackers, wicks, and ash. Dogs run loose, no collar or tag. Isabel tries to control her hair, twist it into rows, slick with gel, bobby-pinned, but one strand betrays her in every picture, defies her hand. Free to pace … Read more
I was right in the middle of a late-night rush in the deli when Jeffers, one of our regulars, came slamming in like a lion late for a feeding. Most of our regulars are a pain to be sure, but Jeffers is in his own category. He’s hairy all over with this crazy-looking, giant beard … Read more
“Are they real, Mommy?” My daughter was staring at my bare breasts one morning last month as I got dressed for work. The incisions from my double mastectomy were quiet now, having faded to a mildly aggravated pink over the past six years since my surgeries. “Well, baby, in a way,” I answered. “Remember when … Read more
//www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCZ-fX-JDX0 Visit www.darbybailey.com/ for more information about BLOCK. About Darby Bailey: Voluntarily removed from parochial school in the 4th grade over sexual content in a book she was publishing for friends, Darby Bailey eventually went from downtown Salt Lake City to Santa Cruz to L.A., where she is pursing her B.A. degree at Antioch University. … Read more
July 2nd, 2008. Truth be told, I’ve never been much good at remembering what the date is. Of course this affliction is exacerbated in L.A., where the seasons are vague at best, and I’m hard pressed to know what month it is let alone one of its numbers. In fact, at 78 degrees and … Read more
When he wakes up and complains about your coffee,
just smile. Show no concern that it’s seven o’clock,
and he’s out the door, rushing toward
the nubile barista at Café Amor.
A little of this, a dab that, we dish out our frustrations through asthmatic breaths. Mine are served up lightly seared with mint garnish of leafy discontent in a raspberry coulisse of delicate rage. Yours boil and pop in a single constant earthen pot, simmering silently most of the time, now and then bubbling up … Read more
The echoes in Kolkata’s Albert Hall Cafe were vibrant and gloomy.As I sat at a table and read Tagore’s “The Living and the Dead,” the indiscreet murmur of the room settled into my head rather than Tagore’s words.I folded the top corner of the leaf and closed the book.I looked around the cafe, which seemed … Read more
The sound of our footsteps echoed through the hall. Dozens of faces too ill to smile stared at us as we tried not to look into their rooms. Hushed conversations mingled with the odors of Lysol, bleach and fresh flowers. We arrived at our destination. My mother asked for my handkerchief to dry … Read more
A Thousand Sad Pieces Golden light created a soft waterfall through the dense canopy of trees in the mountain village, filtering through the early morning mist rising from the valley below, falling sporadically on the roof of his adobe home. It crawled gently down the walls looking for the window … Read more
It was 13 years ago. I am 9 years old. It is a sweltering summer. The ocean breeze arrives right before sundown. The neighborhood children and I have gathered to play Flying Colors. We are choosing teams. A younger, filthy boy (resembling Pig Pen) walks up to me. “ Girls can’t do anything!” Hunter says … Read more
I was 21, living in Houston, and appearing in a play called Fire, when Robert Altman came to town to film BREWSTER MCLEOD, a now mostly-forgotten movie that was now mostly-forgotten actor Shelley Duval’s debut. Rumor had it Mr. Altman had plucked her from behind the cosmetics counter at Foley¹s department store. Well! I thought. … Read more
