Black Mourning: Let Our Grief Be Our Own

We must let our grief and our celebration, our individual experience, be our own. Because given the voice to speak our own way, we all have something distinct to say about our collective history and future…

Radical Romance: Realities/ C.D. Sorrell

  Wool jacket fastened halfway up, buttons catching the light like June Bugs Drawing close, he whispers like a branch, one leaf rubbing another Home comes through in the ripples in the lake as the cool wind brings me back Summer in Razliv with the founder, the radical, the will-be revolutionary He speaks words like…

Radical Romance: Dear Emma Goldman/ A. Jancewicz

My front garden will be full of daffodils. I will hang a black flag from the porch. You could read Kropotkin out loud to the children before bed. No matter my exhortations, they still ask for princes.

Hold the Fort/ Jen Fitzgerald

Hold the fort For we are coming… I.W.W. Battle Song   Mallet men of manifest destiny keep time; women waulking tweed keep time; rhythmic stomps, knocks of cloth on plank; a song; if we still raised our voices like progeny; like singing lineage; the fluid life of memory; inheritance; in time; with time; in step; […]

Two Poems/ Isaac Mason

Ralston Crawford Photographs the Negroes of Dryades St. c. 1950   What most interested him was the play of light  on their dark skin: a shine or patina,  a field upon the field. At the Dew Drop Inn, the San Jacinto Social Club, the dancers and musicians, posed engaging problems of framing and composition. In […]