Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 27
March 21, 2024
A Good Girl in the People’s Republic
LEI HU
When she stepped outside and closed the door, the iron handle was so cold, it felt like it was burning. With the basket on her arm, Fu Rong slipped her hands into a pair of cotton mittens her mother had made. She knew she would warm up once she started walking.
When she stepped outside and closed the door, the iron handle was so cold, it felt like it was burning. With the basket on her arm, Fu Rong slipped her hands into a pair of cotton mittens her mother had made. She knew she would warm up once she started walking.
March 20, 2024
Susan
SARAH DUNPHY-LELII
I visit with a friend as she works to empty her mother’s house, who died just days before Christmas, and each object holds a tiny piece of Susan. I come away with several treasures lovely (a hand knitted scarf, a clay donkey to hold my garlic) and practical.
I visit with a friend as she works to empty her mother’s house, who died just days before Christmas, and each object holds a tiny piece of Susan. I come away with several treasures lovely (a hand knitted scarf, a clay donkey to hold my garlic) and practical.
March 12, 2024
Summer People
BETH BOYLE MACHLAN
I wanted so badly to see that house, those dunes, the cold, deep water as our natural habitat instead of what I always kind of knew it was: a brief, bright accident of place and time and money, one that left me imprinted for life on a species to which I didn’t belong.
I wanted so badly to see that house, those dunes, the cold, deep water as our natural habitat instead of what I always kind of knew it was: a brief, bright accident of place and time and money, one that left me imprinted for life on a species to which I didn’t belong.
March 11, 2024
Reaching a Pulse Point: Melody Nixon Interviews Rushi Vyas
MELODY NIXON interviews RUSHI VYAS
Growing up in the suburban US, as a brown person in white suburbia, we are taught to make grief palatable. Expressions of sorrow are permitted, so long as we "move on" or "move forward." There is the assumption that, no matter who it is that died or how they lived, once they are gone we are to only "remember the good time."
Growing up in the suburban US, as a brown person in white suburbia, we are taught to make grief palatable. Expressions of sorrow are permitted, so long as we "move on" or "move forward." There is the assumption that, no matter who it is that died or how they lived, once they are gone we are to only "remember the good time."
March 7, 2024
Kidnapped
AINUR KARIM
With a curse at everything under the sun, she released her second hand from the balcony. The sheets stretched precariously and suddenly under her weight. Dilly-dallying was not an option. Marjan swung towards the second-floor balcony, then slid down.
With a curse at everything under the sun, she released her second hand from the balcony. The sheets stretched precariously and suddenly under her weight. Dilly-dallying was not an option. Marjan swung towards the second-floor balcony, then slid down.
March 6, 2024
Mala Beads
MAW SHEIN WIN
When she wakes, I offer water. She sips from the glass. I ask if she needs more pillows behind her head. I look into her eyes and notice that she has deep blue lines that circle her almost black pupils. Why hadn’t I seen that before? I think of the nazars that I bought in Athens fifteen summers ago.
When she wakes, I offer water. She sips from the glass. I ask if she needs more pillows behind her head. I look into her eyes and notice that she has deep blue lines that circle her almost black pupils. Why hadn’t I seen that before? I think of the nazars that I bought in Athens fifteen summers ago.
March 4, 2024
Through the Lens of the Littoral: A Review of Ralph Sneeden’s The Legible Element
Review by MATT W. MILLER
Sneeden, whether talking waves or poetry, is never pedantic, never flexing knowledge about water or literature. He’s just excited to make connections between ideas, fully and puckishly aware of his geeky literariness, acknowledging that “Nothing, I am told, is more boring than when I do start talking about the waves.”
Sneeden, whether talking waves or poetry, is never pedantic, never flexing knowledge about water or literature. He’s just excited to make connections between ideas, fully and puckishly aware of his geeky literariness, acknowledging that “Nothing, I am told, is more boring than when I do start talking about the waves.”
March 1, 2024
Podcast: Nayereh Doosti on “The Little One”
NAYEREH DOOSTI
Nayereh Doosti speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about her story “The Little One,” which appears in The Common’s fall 2023 issue.
Nayereh Doosti speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about her story “The Little One,” which appears in The Common’s fall 2023 issue.
February 29, 2024
February 2024 Poetry Feature
CORTNEY LAMAR CHARLESTON
There was tear gas deployed without a tear. There were / rubber bullets fired from weapons that also fire lethal rounds. There were / armored vehicles steering through the streets of the capital that stars our maps. // What we saw was only new to the people it was new to.
There was tear gas deployed without a tear. There were / rubber bullets fired from weapons that also fire lethal rounds. There were / armored vehicles steering through the streets of the capital that stars our maps. // What we saw was only new to the people it was new to.
February 23, 2024
Join us for the 2024 Festival of Debut Authors!
Join The Common's team on March 27th at 7pm for our 2024 Festival of Debut Authors, an evening devoted to emerging talents! This virtual celebration will highlight poets and prose writers Felice Belle, Jordan Escobar, Irina Hrinoschi, amika elfendi, Nina Perrotta and Shanna Tan.
