Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 100
April 27, 2020
Nothing More Human
SURAJ ALVA
You are in a chamber, waiting for the bailiff. When he comes in, you wish you had been killed. Not your brother. The rusted scent of the metal chair you’re on reminds you of the smell of his blood on your hands, chest, and hair: sweetly pungent with a strong hint of iron.
You are in a chamber, waiting for the bailiff. When he comes in, you wish you had been killed. Not your brother. The rusted scent of the metal chair you’re on reminds you of the smell of his blood on your hands, chest, and hair: sweetly pungent with a strong hint of iron.
On the Train
ISHRAGA MUSTAFA HAMID
The ride on the train from Kosti, known as “the steamer,” marked the start of the summer vacation. As soon as it began, I felt a mixture of sadness and joy—joy that I would be traveling on the westbound train again, and sadness at leaving my hometown...
The ride on the train from Kosti, known as “the steamer,” marked the start of the summer vacation. As soon as it began, I felt a mixture of sadness and joy—joy that I would be traveling on the westbound train again, and sadness at leaving my hometown...
Sara Who Married a Dead Man
AHMAD AL MALIK
She stepped quickly, her body weightless now all the years of waiting and false promises were set aside. Face shining, renewed, it was as though three decades of dread had swirled up and away with the incense smoke and the dust raised by the devil’s music.
She stepped quickly, her body weightless now all the years of waiting and false promises were set aside. Face shining, renewed, it was as though three decades of dread had swirled up and away with the incense smoke and the dust raised by the devil’s music.
The Creator
ABDEL-GHANI KARAMALLA
The dog told me I would marry her in the liminality of al-barzakh, that my body had not yet ripened or become hard like clay, and that it would not until after the first death; there you can have ninety-nine names, or one for every creature; as many as you like.
The dog told me I would marry her in the liminality of al-barzakh, that my body had not yet ripened or become hard like clay, and that it would not until after the first death; there you can have ninety-nine names, or one for every creature; as many as you like.
Flash
LEMYA SHAMMAT
He spotted her slender body, whipped by the hot air, on the verge of being flattened by the wheels of the racing cars. Without hesitation, he decided to save her. He glanced around, then rushed to launch himself deftly into the air.
He spotted her slender body, whipped by the hot air, on the verge of being flattened by the wheels of the racing cars. Without hesitation, he decided to save her. He glanced around, then rushed to launch himself deftly into the air.
The Opening Ceremony
BUSHRA ELFADIL
Every Friday morning, all the residents in the simmering neighborhood of Wilat in this drab African city waited for the General to appear, to officially open the narrow street that passed between their houses.
Every Friday morning, all the residents in the simmering neighborhood of Wilat in this drab African city waited for the General to appear, to officially open the narrow street that passed between their houses.
Love, Under a Falling Sky
MEGAN PINTO
Say Chicken Little was right, that the sky / is falling. What I want to know is, / will the moon fall too? Will it bounce softly / like swiss cheese, or will it crumble / like a stale cookie? Do skies bruise? / Do they ache? And is the sky/ a metaphor for all the ills and evils / of the world?
Say Chicken Little was right, that the sky / is falling. What I want to know is, / will the moon fall too? Will it bounce softly / like swiss cheese, or will it crumble / like a stale cookie? Do skies bruise? / Do they ache? And is the sky/ a metaphor for all the ills and evils / of the world?
April 24, 2020
April 2020 Poetry Feature: Poems from John Freeman’s THE PARK
JOHN FREEMAN
Every Sunday belfry bats of dread / flapped in the day’s corners— / I raised my head at 25, at 30, then 35, / as the sun arced down, always / wretched by the coming dark. / I assumed it was the awakening / singular to humans: / one day, that day would be the last.
Every Sunday belfry bats of dread / flapped in the day’s corners— / I raised my head at 25, at 30, then 35, / as the sun arced down, always / wretched by the coming dark. / I assumed it was the awakening / singular to humans: / one day, that day would be the last.
April 23, 2020
Ask a Local with Anika Fajardo: Minneapolis, Minnesota
ANIKA FAJARDO
Minneapolis is known as the "city of lakes" because of the five large bodies of water nestled in among the city blocks of houses and small businesses.
Minneapolis is known as the "city of lakes" because of the five large bodies of water nestled in among the city blocks of houses and small businesses.
April 22, 2020
Perfectly Spaced
LIESL SWOGGER
They jog past my window. A clump of three white-haired men, a tight pyramid formation, the front two shoulder to shoulder, the third right on their heels. And I'll be honest, my first thought is not charitable. "Fucking men," I think, taking a swig of my coffee. "They never think the rules apply to them. Do they think they're invincible?"
They jog past my window. A clump of three white-haired men, a tight pyramid formation, the front two shoulder to shoulder, the third right on their heels. And I'll be honest, my first thought is not charitable. "Fucking men," I think, taking a swig of my coffee. "They never think the rules apply to them. Do they think they're invincible?"
