Poetry
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An Interview with Vince Gotera
From City College of San Francisco graduate to Poet Laureate of Iowa, Forum contributor and native San Franciscan Vince Gotera talks about his poetic influences: war, the Haight Ashbury, his Filipino heritage, sea dragons, and “the city.”
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Ode to Rebellions for Queer Liberation
Written by Carla Schick Praise to the streets that bear footprints indelible storm on Christopher StreetTo the person in a tie, gender undescribed who threw the first punchTo the Molotov cocktails and the tough & tender brown & black trans women who tossedtheir high heels to claw against the cops reaching down their throats, voices…
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Subduction Leads to Orogeny
Written by Austin Lui Mello History is deep andoutside my reach; butwet echoeslap sand,leaving tracesand topographies. In the trench,hungry fossils connivein absolute obscurity,trailing silken notionsfrom vane or spine,carrion falling, freezing,stirs abyssal appetites,a toothy shifting in the murk;not far from where i flewhome from the hospital tolearn to bob and toddle on teak;not far from the…
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The Breaking Point
Written by Aniah Hill A screamed escaped out the small window above the ivory toilet where she had tried to hide after breaking free from her closet prison He slammed her against the door frame, again and again, until she stopped struggling. Then he slapped her across the face, into another state of mind where…
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Cootie Loved Be-Bop
Written by Gloria Keeley “Louis Armstrong changed all the brass players around, but after Bird, all of the instruments had to change – drums, piano, bass, trombones, trumpets, saxophones, everything.” –Trumpeter Cootie Williams his trumpet could chatter likeechoes of Harlemalong the corridors of Nah’Leansout the mouth of Route 66the band in syncthe reeds pure weedblowing…
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Beyond Narcissus’ Pool by Thomas A. E. Hesketh
My friend, Let me ask of you, if I may, with the aid of the Muse who has guided me thus far, along the path I have travelled, which intersected yours, as you may recall, when the Sun shone brighter in the sky, stars were fixed, and storm clouds were another person’s shadow, about a matter of some concern, personally; an…
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Portage by Judy Halebsky
Don’t tell my father that the police drive down my street in armor standing on their bumpers holding AK 47s we march down Telegraph with signspeople come out of their houses cheer for us as we pass at the Berkeley Y, I hear women speaking my grandmother’s language the one she tried to pass on to my father don’t…
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Eora, Ramaytush, English by Rachel Chalmers
Eora, Ramaytush, English1 by Rachel Chalmers Mungi, wilkawarep, lightning, Burra, rinnimi, sky, Murungal, pura, thunder, May, hiin, eye. Darrabara, puuhi, daylight, Minak, muur, night, Biyanga, ‘apaa, father, Dyirra, laskainin, white. Wiyanga, ‘anaa, mother, Mudjil, chitkote, red, Mudung, ‘ishsha, living, Gugun, hurwishte, dead. 1 Eora, or Dharug, is the original language of the Sydney region of…
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Nepantla by Fernanda Vega
When crippled with otherness: I celebrate our differencesWhen treated like a stranger: I embrace our humannessWhen provoked with rupture: I tend to my mother CoyolxāuhquiWhen disjointed by oppression and pain: I appease in my bodymindspiritWhen told that I don’t belong ni aquí ni allá: I bury my roots in the interstitial space, in nepantla. Because, yes, I…
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The Cup of Trembling Saramanda Swigart
The sunset is made of gold. It is made of gold, the sunset, this sunset. made of gold—-pure gold spills down the mountainside and I kneel before the mountainside’s golden spread Kneel on the stone and burn this image into my forsaken brain, sear gold onto my retinas, behind its sackcloth consciousness (made of gold…
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