Author: Heavy Feather

Poetry: Sarah Duncan’s “Umpqua”

*For those killed by Chris Harper-Mercerat Umpqua Community College The school is closed. The school is open tobodies, warm and laughing. The school isonly open to ghosts. There are 10 ghosts 9wounded, 10 dead 320 millionwarm, wounded. The gun is coldand apologetic. The gun is warmand laughing in cold hands, white boyhands in a…
Hoopty Time Machines, fairy tales for grown-ups by Christopher DeWan, reviewed by Eric Andrew Newman

It’s very fitting that Christopher DeWan, the author if the new book Hoopty Time Machines, lives in Los Angeles. After all L.A., or La La Land as it’s also known, is the land of dreams and fairy tales. In his previous book, Working and Other Essays, there’s an essay in which DeWan references the permeability…
Five Poems by Liza Flum

Daily Action Today I call my representative.I call the one who representsmy representative: Representative,youfloating somewhere over my shoulder, crow on the telephone line, squat black spanof my hand in the polis, what little markdo I make on the whitelandscape of this world that asks for my bloodand asks and asks as the bandageasks the woundtill…
Erasure: “Genesis 2, 3” by Demi Demirkol

*Ed.’s Note: click image to view larger size. Demi Demirkol is an LA-based poet and artist. She is the author of I Have One Daughter or Maybe Millions, a self-published series of erasure poems paralleling archival erasure with bodily violence. She has participated in poetry workshops at University of Tennessee, Knoxville and University of California,…
Three Poems by Jared Joseph

As She Added the Dirt to Her Beauty She added the alphabet to her Fabulous muscles I died there. Before that I was a ghost Now I am a ghost. The wounds don’t heal Does the skin break As she adds the dirt to her beauty She adds the eyes her body. As I died…
Poetry: Al Ortolani’s “Buddhists Call It Monkey Mind”

Take toothpaste for instance―white foam splatteredon the mirror, on the vanity,on the chrome faucet.Each time you spit,lather drips down your chin,runs the brush onto your hands;you can smell mintthe rest of the day on your fingertipsWhen you wokethat morning, you were justanother sap with halitosis;by noon, you’re a reformer.Purpose evokes response.You begin to petition.A man,…
Essay: Anna Laird Barto’s “Telenova Tyrants”

I saw Fidel everywhere when I studied in Havana in 2004. Not the man himself, but his image, broad-shouldered, bushy-bearded, on postcards and billboards, grinning slyly through rings of smoke or gazing ferociously over the horizon, finger pointed at an unseen oppressor. His words were immortalized in black and red spray paint on the ruins…
Poetry: “is it god inside you?” by Charlie Waddle

On election night, it is latewhen the gathering, that is no longer a party,ends. The walk home becomes mostly silent.November night has no concern for union’s fractured stateit waits for morning, washes light awayFails to consider that darkness cannot be safe You are not safetelevision warns. The ocean is violent, even if its fury arrives…
Poetry: Ela Thompson’s “The Labyrinth”

My grandmother’s house was painted a dark, graying eggshell blueand was very near the southern border of the Catskill Mountains.After the death of my grandfather she sold the house, the barn, the manyacres of field and forest. No one was surprised.Death contaminates the heavy rivers of our bodiesand we must move…