Tag: justice
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Prayers to the Saints of Prison (excerpt) (duplicate)
The vowels are in solitary confinement The consonants are being beaten by sadistic dictionaries . . .
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Prayers to the Saints of Prison (excerpt)
The vowels are in solitary confinement The consonants are being beaten by sadistic dictionaries . . .
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Ransom Notes | Day 1 April Poetry Month Chapbook
Identity Who among us is a beastthat never dies?Who among us is a loverthat never cries?Who among us is a dreamerthat always lies?I am your woundI am your eyesI am your bed (I am your shadowthat runs acrossthe groundand no obstacle, no rockno chasm, no mountainscan keep me from being at your feet) {1 April…
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The human story | We are all migrants, really …
The human story that turns against herself: forced migrations. Humanity became humanity when she rose up and started walking, following the rhythms and flows of the natural world. The first migrations were forced by the changes that occurred in the relationship between humans and the natural world. These changes in turn affected and transformed the…
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Writing the veins | Where our stories come from
My ink is the web of life, a sunburned heart, thirty kilometers of veins, holding up the calcinated skeleton of migrants. I scribble from the tips of my fingers to the octopus buds that nestle under my tongue the stories and struggles, singing from the bed of each night. I do not leave a…
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what I lost | arnoldo garcía
I cannot take back what I lost what I lost now belongs to another If I take back what I lost I will have to take it away from another I I cannot take back what I lost what I lost is only found in my memory a body that needs another to be found…
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arnoldo garcía: Soledades
I cannot possess you anymore than you can possess the wind, the water, the land And I will never possess you or the land Yet all I want is to be buried in you So that you can possess me Turning me into a flurry of wind dust across your watery back a muddy…
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arnoldo garcía: golondrinagrafía | 2 de mayo| may 2
La golondrina bebelas lágrimas de la mujer heridaLa curandera la piensa,la sueña,la frota de plantitas y oraciones, llantos y coloresElla ahoga su plumajeen la menstruación inalámbricade la ternura Su cuerpo bramidoparte solespara destruir a los soldadosque hicieron guerras contra su horizonte Golondrina labios acurrucadosvuela a los míosTu boca sobre la mia, golondrinaTus labios,…
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My studio is the street | Photoessay by David Bacon
Editors Note: Photography changed everything. Photography freed up the painter from direct and indirect representation. Picasso would not have been possible without the revolution of photography. : time and space collided on a piece of light sensitive paper to reveal human images. Photography transformed our imagination, our intimacy, our class consciousness, our cultural work and made…
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