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Why the Garcia Girls Should Be In The Norton Anthology
By Aodhán Ridenour When Ezra Pound said “Make it new” at the beginning of the twentieth century, hesparked a fire that needed two significant forces to flourish: experimentation and demographicchange. Julia Alverez’s novel How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents represents a log pile ofintersections with Pound’s famous statement. From the novel’s peculiar narrative constructionand direction, the counterculturalist undertones, to the intimate semi-autobiographical stories ofoutsider experience, Garcia Girls adheres to—and challenges—the somewhat ambiguousrulebook for inclusion in The Norton Anthology of American Literature. As the introduction ofNorton states, “The vitality of contemporary American literature, evident throughout the mostrecent selections in this volume, is fueled by two great engines, one artistic and…
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Cliffs near Dieppe, 1882
By Aodhán Ridenour Photo of “Cliffs near Dieppe, 1882” by Claude Monet. Painted blisters, round and random,childlike or elderly—depending onperspective, or what you thinkyou know, or someone elsehas told you. Blues so smooth they make thepink look jagged, untouched sectionof the 64-pack, greens and grayssqueezed from a spectrumlike the Pillars of Creation. Humanity perverse, it’s not a surfaceto traverse; I wouldn’t want tolay out on that beach.Yet everybodyloves to gaze,talk, and stare. A scene of pastel painted blisters,woven, doubled,dectuple stacked;a knife slit skin revealsits melted crayon profiles. I hated you at first, thenI loved you, standing backa couple paces,lacking glasses. “It’s Impressionist,” they say, “so what is your impression?”Should I…
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Breaking Silence
By: Kristen Craycraft “Every poem breaks a silence that had to be overcome” – Adrienne Rich. My words are my words,They need to be heard,The same goes for you,You deserve to be heard too. Poetry makes noise,Overcoming the deafening silence,Writing through struggles with poise,Running away from violence. What good is it knowing words,And having a voice,If you remain silent,Refusing your choice?
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Maple’s Soliloquy
By Alyssa Phifer Photo by Pexel Stock Images My branches nearly brush her windowsill She sleeps inside so sweetly ’til the sun Shines through my leaves, warm green glows soft into Her dreams, her waking moments intertwined With mine—though I do not know how to sleep Or wake—I wonder what this might be like To lay my body down, to rest beneath The shade of someone else’s outstretched arms I stand still, tall and strong—my roots reach down, Dig deep to raise me higher than before I stand, I grow—she sleeps, she dreams and wakes To see her limbs seem longer, running out To share her dream with me—together, we…
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Done.
By Meg Salizzoni “Mors irrumat omnia. Death fucks us all.” —Leigh Bardugo in Ninth House mors omnibus adest memento mori words meant to soothe calm prepare redirect divert numb to the eventual end of which we do not consent? instead, mors irrumat omnia. latin is a dead language already. we were doomed from the start.
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Revenge
by Alyssa Fallavolitti We were happy, but then you stomped on my goddamn heart. And like the fucking idiot I am, I forgave you. But that’s what I wanted you to think. I’ll admit, at first, I wanted to believe you’d change. At first, I wanted to give you another chance, but all those words you said to me replayed in my mind like a broken record. All the bruises on my body told me there was no hope for you. And like the selfish bastard you are, you thought you had the upper hand in our relationship, but it was me all along. It was all about me. Your…
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Vengence
By Alexis Craft We were happy. Too happy. So, I stomped on your pretty little heart. And like the fucking idiot you are, you forgave me. Or so I thought. I believed I had the upper hand in our relationship, but to my surprise, you had it all along. My mood was based around yours; our conversations were all about you and your day, and our love was on your terms. But from the outside looking in, it was pure. That stunt I pulled was meant to be our end, and it almost was, but then I decided I wasn’t done with you. I wasn’t done with the attention you…
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Felix
By Rachel Hoarau (Photo by Pixel Free Images) My paw pads aren’t callused like my mother’s. They are soft and pink. The light is bright, and I can hardly see. Mom licks my head Says bye bye and runs out of the den I want to go out there, too! It looks so bright and green. A year has gone by and I’m running every day, Crushing green sprouts in soft soil and spilling down over the hillside, nearly falling into the chittering brook. There is another like me in the brook’s wavy water. He is red and white with deep brown eyes. I dance with him. I think he…
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The Weight of Kevlar
By Ryan Stryffeler Yesterday I was helping my daughter get ready for school She put on her Kevlar backpack while I tied her shoes “If anything happens, I love you” I said with a smile And gave her an extra-long hug to hold her close for a while And smell her thick hair, place my lips on her scalp, For a moment unconscious of anything else I looked at her then, so trusting, so pure, So ignorant of what she’ll be forced to endure They grow up so fast, everyone says But why must growing up bring her closer to death?
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Angelica
By Thea Angeles (Photo by Adobe Stock) Innocent and demure she may seem The moment you first encounter her; But as time goes by and by, Get to know her more And you’re in for a surprise. Yes, she’s still that ingenue you knew That fragile and innocent flower; Only later, you will find A free-spirited princess she actually is Especially in times of adrenaline and excitement.
