Category: The Last Word

Poetry: “Civil War Re-enactment: Kure Beach, NC, January 2017” by Suzzanna Matthews-Amanzio

The artillery drumfire of a civil war re-enactment—a frenzy of smallbirds, cries syncopated, rise—scattershot from the twisted branches Trees lie beyond the dunes—Carolina live oak—from the beach we seethe canopy stunted, flat—feruled by headwinds There is history that seethes beneath the sea—that keeps lapping at theland Shading our eyes we can see the shore stretching…
Essay: “a crooked thing is a riot/a riot is a crooked thing” by Hannah Rubin

i. there was a fire last night, of course there was. news cameras love the glow of orange against a black-clad body. makes everything look hedonistic when really it’s us just fighting for our fucking lives. ii. you know milo said rape culture was a fiction? I circle the word fiction loosely with my tongue,…
Poetry: “The Beautiful Ex, Who Was Once on TV” by Kyle Kineman

I still smell the sweat of machineson your chest, the grease of your night-shiftpalm, you were always oil on canvas,a James Dean in altar boy blues. I knowI’ve looked at you too many times latelyin the photos you’ve posted. You look good—your wet white shirt outlining every church boybulge as you emerge from some Malibu…
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…
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,…
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…