Three poems by contributor Shivangi Goel. Capitalism We made the world we live in, And we have to make it over. Baldwin says to me, over Tea on couch across generations Of whispers of learnings snuffled Across ink and what confluence Would have it that only this voice reaches,
A poem by contributor Elisabeth Horan. Is it my turn to use them? I asked, in doe-eyed chin up hopefulness – Not yet, replied father-fuhrer. Maybe tomorrow. I never really got a chance to play with them – they were under lock and key behind the
Too many books are printed in St. Ives. I came to this conclusion as I harvested publication details for the bibliography of my latest paper. Students and scholars alike dread the tedious duty of transcribing this information—from the name of publishers to the year of publication—into the footnotes and reference
Photo By: T.J. Beach The very first installment of “Braving the Days” was published on December 2, 2016. I must admit that I am none the wiser, but that doesn’t take me out of the running to have become a better woman. I believe I have become a better human
I started this review at three in the morning. I woke up with a pain in my side; probably the result of poor cooking decisions on my part. I sat in a large chair, covered myself in blankets, and wrapped a heavy scarf around me for a shawl. The pains
Most people do not place much faith in bus schedules. Congestion and traffic lights always conspire to delay buses by five minutes or more. When I moved to London, Ontario, I learnt quite swiftly that the arrival and departure of buses in this city do not follow any logical system.
I’m literally sitting writing this reading list in a Hugo Boss jacket that’s a bit too large for my small feminine frame. I found it barely worn in freshly dry cleaned in a “giveaway” box in my neighborhood. Everyone in the neighborhood leaves books, clothes and appliances out to share
It’s only early August and there’s a briskness to the air on the East Coast. Last year, there was blistering heat, and I craved the cool, foggy days of San Francisco, but this season has changed, and so have I. I mean, on a fundamental level I have not.
They insert their hands in my mouth, these passerby pedestrians in the in-between electric places that simultaneously exist but do not exist, (much like a deceased living cat in a physics experiment), and with errant fingers feel my tongue reading my words like braille chiseled on electric, hovering boards
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