Poetry & Fiction

Books

The Short Crappy Life of Walter J. Palmer, or, The Oddities of American Wealth

Anyone who has followed the demise of Cecil, the African lion, and Walter J. Palmer, his American slayer, can’t help but be struck by the parallels with Hemingway’s classic story, “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber,” where a wealthy but timid American bumbles around the African savannah under the protection of a guide, procures a few hides, and ultimately meets his demise.
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Fiction

Time Between Trains

Now in a gusty April…she sat in the place where roads cross, the lonely four corners where, with nothing stopping it, the wind sweeps along without regard for anything.
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Fiction

Foie Gras, Bondage, Cronuts at Dawn

Blair’s relationship with him was a particularly Californian brand of Elektra complex, constellated by lavish sushi dinners, the interruption of business negotiations to attend her poetry readings, the purchase of swimwear well into her 20s, and on her end, worrying constantly over his health (ironically, in retrospect), visiting him weekly during his brief stint at a minimum security prison, and dedicating to him her two volumes of poetry, Other Minds, Other Bodies and Quantum Vulva.
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Poetry

For Hazhir

The drone hovers under the iron-gray dome of heaven. Bloodshed turns the gray dome furnace-red. Evenings we warm our hands over the news.

Reviews

Promises to Keep

Ultimately, the novel raises many issues of immediate relevance to Jews today—the struggle to find oneself on the ever-widening spectrum of Jewish identities, the complex ways that “Jewish values” can be realized in the world, the impact of intermarriage on Jewish continuity, and the tension between personal desire and responsibility to one’s people.
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Poetry & Fiction

Small Father

Crispy on the crust, moist, nutty, with dhana giro baked in, Mom’s stuffing is like a cross between her juicy lamb kababs and perfectly golden cornbread. At eight years old, I was there beside her at Publix the night she first asked a woman in the poultry department for help. That woman and another then explained, patiently, respectfully, how to clean and stuff a turkey, how to prepare the gravy.
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Justice & Prisons

Honor Block

True to its reputation, the prison was violent. And ugly. I witnessed cuttings and stabbings in the yard. They erupted without warning, like lightning. At night in my cell, I heard the screams of men being beaten by the guards.
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Poetry

A Promised Land

How to keep the promise of a promised land? Not only a name, a place, a flag. It’s an end to wandering in the wilderness, the wilderness inside ourselves. It’s singing sweeter than scorpions. It’s touching everywhere softer than snakes. …
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Fiction

Blue, Texas

I was eating two slices of Oscar Meyer bologna that I’d topped with a squiggle of yellow mustard and squeezed between two slices of white Wonder bread. But he held a bulging thing housed between two dense slices of dark bread, a sandwich that was both pungent and foreign, about as unreal as anything I could recall.
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Fiction

Recalculating

And then, there he was again. The chutzpa, calling her, after so many years, his notions of her still intact, his cavalier assumption of intimate knowledge and his selective amnesia. He was not easily put off.
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Poetry

Black Hat

The black hat. The wig. The shawl. The thick stockings. The kerchief. The skullcap. The hidden fringes. The posted decrees. Neighbors spitting with suspicion. Roaring hooves. Thwack of sabers. The night escape. The ship. Stacked bunks in steerage. The stench. …
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Poetry & Fiction

Aubade

It’s easy to pretend / that we don’t love / the world. / But then there is / your freckled skin. A poem by Patrick Phillips.

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Poetry

The Sand Dancers

“In a faded photo, they dance on shore, / two kids we were, scuffing up bursts of sand; / hands rise and fall in a rapid step-slide-spin.” – a poem by Grace Schulman
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Poetry

Joe Louis’s Fist

“My father said when Louis won, the radio static was a wave / of sound that stayed all night like the riots blocks away in Harlem, / as the scent of lilac and gin wafted down Broadway to his window.” A poem by Peter Balakian.

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Poetry

The Legend of How the Tao Te Ching Came Into Being on Laotse’s Journey Into Exile

“When he was seventy and fragile, / the Teacher felt compelled to seek repose, / for the Good within the land was on the wane, / and Evil gaining strength again. / So he drew on his shoe.” Jon Swan’s translation of a poem by Bertolt Brecht.

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