Author Archive

Fiction Feature: CORONA by Bushra Rehman

October 2, 2013
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Corona (and I’m not talking about the beer) Corona, Queens 1983 Corona, and I’m not talking about the beer. I’m talking about a little village perched under the number 7 train in Queens between Junction Boulevard and 111th Street. I’m talking about the Corona Ice King, Spaghetti Park, and P.S. 19. The Corona F....
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Posted in Arts & Culture, Ethnicity, Family, Fiction, Immigration, Region, Uncategorized, Writing | Comments Off

Ovary

January 15, 2013
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I left my ovary on the subway last night. Stepped out. Felt light. Heard the doors close behind me, and realized I’d left my ovary behind.   If there was an honest person left in New York, maybe they would return it. But you can get 2000 dollars for an egg, at least that’s...
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The Assembly

November 29, 2012
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Queens, NY 1984 Nothing in P.S. 19 was ever heated enough. The auditorium, the cafeteria, the large windows with their pull-down plastic vinyl drapes rattled in another winter storm.  Ms. Cooperman, our teacher, frowned as she saw us shiver. “Bring your coats,” she said. “We’re having an assembly.”  It had snowed heavily the day...
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Posted in Culture, Education, Health, Politics, Sexuality, U.S., Uncategorized, Youth | 8 Comments »

Secret Survivor: An Interview with Amita Swadhin

October 21, 2012
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Secret Survivor: An Interview with Amita Swadhin

On the morning of July 16, 2012, I received a letter from Amita Swadhin, an activist and educator who is at the forefront of the movement to end Child Sexual Abuse. Her father Vashisht “Victor” Vaid was put on probation twenty years ago for sexually assaulting her during her childhood. Amita had just discovered...
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Posted in Family, Health, Politics, Religion, Sexuality, U.S., Violence, World, Youth | 28 Comments »

The Father

June 17, 2012
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  The hands of the clocks turn until there are no hands anymore   The years unfold: work, work, work the numbers on the paycheck never match the hurt in his bones, the money sent home,   The homes built in Pakistan, abandoned, all the sons of his brothers came here, to this god-forsaken...
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Worry and anxiety have worn me down to the bone

May 30, 2012
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There was no rug on the floor and the old lady from downstairs would crawl up on her hands through the wood and show up at the door, screaming   there was no rug on the floor and any scrape or movement would start the beating up from down below the wooden broom-gunfire and...
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Posted in Culture, Economy, Family, Immigration, Poetry, Politics, U.S. | Comments Off

The Endless Baptism

May 15, 2012
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The Endless Baptism For Palestine For the last few months, I’ve been working on a series of essays on Palestine. I’ve now written and erased my words until there is nothing left but the original title of the series. It could fit on a button: “Islamophobia is not the answer to Anti-Semitism.” —-Eventually, the...
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Meteors

May 13, 2012
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to sleep all day in loving arms or call my mother and hear her say Bushra? I was thinking of you right now   to sleep all day in loving arms or spend the morning in my apartment in the Bronx feeling the sun warm the linoleum looking out the window and thinking:   I...
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  • Poem Suite: Silencing RasiqraRevulva-_3-4_Profile_;__Romancing_The_Own_;__Waning_Gibbou-glitch_headshot

    Elie Wiesel writes, “I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” Silence binds perpetrators and victims, creates a confederacy of secrets. Here, these women [...]

  • 3 poems by Sarah Kortemeier SarahKortemeier-_Baby_Fever____Stone_with_Nineteen_Corners____The_-sarah_kortemeier_outdoor_color_by_jennifer_mcstotts

    The Mountain   The mountain is really a series of itself. Deeper pockets of sky color float in its canyons. In certain seasons, it’s difficult to tell rock face from snowfall. The ridge line looks much sharper than it must, in actuality, be. When you climb, the summit is sometimes [...]

  • 3 poems by Arielle Greenberg Wormwood portrait LA

    Who I’d Like to Meet   I am on tiptoe scanning our tallest bookshelves for something to pack to read on the plane.  I am scanful, tippy-toed: a girl without boots.  I am shorty.  I want to read something great, as in literary, and beautiful and daring, and something hobnailed [...]