A Call to End an Era of Injustice.
In blurring the lines between our privileges and our rights, we become complacent when we ought to hold ourselves and others accountable.
Browsing Tag:
gun
Dreams of an Elephant: Open Letter to the Community.
In my real home, elephant deaths are a complex and beautiful affair. We honor our loved ones, just as humans do. I was robbed of this rite of passage.
Sung Home: Chapter Four. {fiction}
Bombed, burnt and weather-battered homes lined the streets, the smoky tang sometimes punctuated by the smell of long rotted flesh.
For the Students, My Teachers, February 14th, 2018 (and Every Day After). {poetry}
Never again will we entertain this tyranny
that wears a thousand divisive masks
but is always a scared and greed-scarred child-man
hiding behind a curtain.
There’s Never an Answer to Why We Poison Our Own People.
There won't be any organic anything for long. Because people like the Donald, our president, gave Dow Chemical the right to poison our crops with nerve gas.
For the Women like You. {poetry}
She held his gaze.
She told me she had put on all
the layers of clothes
she could,
before he told her
to get
in the back
of the truck.
A jacket over a jacket over a jacket.
His chin-drool.
She held his gaze steady.
I Won’t Bow Down to the Despair in This World.
We are the mothers of every single un-housed soul in the Middle East, floating on less-than-seaworthy vessels towards a new frontier. May they find welcome, may they find shelter, and may they find work. May we each be the welcome they seek. We are the mothers of children who will live with the ...
My Life Had Stood, a Loaded Gun: Emily Dickinson.
On one hand, she embodies the two ingredients that account for a writer’s freakability levels: the forsaken art of solitude, which she took to new, deadly levels, and her passionate romance with language. Combine this with the mysterious, poetic elegance watching you behind closed doors. Doors ...