Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 43
May 8, 2023
Moving Sale
ANDERS CARLSON-WEE
Duluth, we said when a browser asked. / Omaha, we said to another. // Omaha? they said. What’s in Omaha? / It was a good question, but in truth // we weren’t moving, just using / the drama to draw shoppers.
Duluth, we said when a browser asked. / Omaha, we said to another. // Omaha? they said. What’s in Omaha? / It was a good question, but in truth // we weren’t moving, just using / the drama to draw shoppers.
Spa Days
KEETJE KUIPERS
I drive through the yellow ribcage of maples / arching the road, past the butch woman I want / to be, raking leaves in her front yard, hair / slicked back at the sides.
I drive through the yellow ribcage of maples / arching the road, past the butch woman I want / to be, raking leaves in her front yard, hair / slicked back at the sides.
May 5, 2023
Friday Reads: May 2023
Happy May! Our 25th issue launches on Monday, bringing you a portfolio of unforgettable writing from Kuwait, poems about rodents, car washes, and colonization, and prose pieces about art, religion, albatrosses, and snowcats. In this installment of Friday Reads, Issue 25 contributors reflect on some of their favorite books.
May 4, 2023
Sorrow of Phoenix
CHO JI HOON
The brightness of Dancheong, faded, / the grand columns are eaten away by the worms. / At the flying eaves, without the sound of wind chimes singing / the pigeons and the mountain birds make their nests. / While attending the demand by the stronger Kingdom, ...
The brightness of Dancheong, faded, / the grand columns are eaten away by the worms. / At the flying eaves, without the sound of wind chimes singing / the pigeons and the mountain birds make their nests. / While attending the demand by the stronger Kingdom, ...
April 27, 2023
April 2023 Poetry Feature
MARK ANTHONY CAYANAN
I sometimes hope to learn the truth beyond my desires. I hope some time / to repair desire. Postpone until after your children’s deaths your doom, / a poet prays, stoppering his doubts with glib devotion. I’ll never have / children: though I’ve no need of this earth
I sometimes hope to learn the truth beyond my desires. I hope some time / to repair desire. Postpone until after your children’s deaths your doom, / a poet prays, stoppering his doubts with glib devotion. I’ll never have / children: though I’ve no need of this earth
April 26, 2023
Fowl Play
CYNTHIA GRAAE
My late husband was a man who invented facts. He was Danish by birth, and at a dinner party he mentioned that aardvark was Danish for hard work. “Copenhagen households keep them to clean the floors,” he said.
My late husband was a man who invented facts. He was Danish by birth, and at a dinner party he mentioned that aardvark was Danish for hard work. “Copenhagen households keep them to clean the floors,” he said.
April 25, 2023
Love Will Remain: A Film Review of “One Fine Morning”
HANNAH GERSEN
In middle age, many women find themselves members of the sandwich generation: those who are caregivers to both their elderly parents and young children. Such is the fate of Sandra Kienzler (Léa Seydoux), the heroine of Mia Hansen-Løve’s sneakily powerful drama.
In middle age, many women find themselves members of the sandwich generation: those who are caregivers to both their elderly parents and young children. Such is the fate of Sandra Kienzler (Léa Seydoux), the heroine of Mia Hansen-Løve’s sneakily powerful drama.
April 13, 2023
The Candidate
J.G. JESMAN
The school was looking for a history teacher. The old one had a stroke in front of his form two class. The Principal, Mr. Mpeni—whose name meant “knife” but was in fact, duller than a spoon—arranged for the head of humanities and the director of the school to attend the “oral” interview.
The school was looking for a history teacher. The old one had a stroke in front of his form two class. The Principal, Mr. Mpeni—whose name meant “knife” but was in fact, duller than a spoon—arranged for the head of humanities and the director of the school to attend the “oral” interview.
April 12, 2023
Two Poems by Elaine Reardon
ELAINE REARDON
When I woke in the morning / and begged for stories, Gram said / don’t talk to much, flies / will get into your mouth. / I still wanted to a story. / She’d say later, after our work // She tied an apron around me, / pulled the stool to the table, / gave me parsley, cracked wheat, / ground lamb, and my own basin / of water to wet my hands
When I woke in the morning / and begged for stories, Gram said / don’t talk to much, flies / will get into your mouth. / I still wanted to a story. / She’d say later, after our work // She tied an apron around me, / pulled the stool to the table, / gave me parsley, cracked wheat, / ground lamb, and my own basin / of water to wet my hands
April 10, 2023
Embodying a Permissive Playfulness: Rage Hezekiah interviews Milo Muise
MILO MUISE
TL;DR is also poking fun at the way trans narratives get boiled down (especially by cis media) to these boring, safe platitudes, as if it’s possible to quickly sum up the entirety of one’s trans experience in a one-sentence tl;dr.
TL;DR is also poking fun at the way trans narratives get boiled down (especially by cis media) to these boring, safe platitudes, as if it’s possible to quickly sum up the entirety of one’s trans experience in a one-sentence tl;dr.
