All posts by Bushra Rehman
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Fiction Feature: CORONA by Bushra Rehman
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...
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Ovary
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...
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The Assembly
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...
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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...
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The Father
The hands of the clocks turn until there are no hands anymore The years unfold: work, work, work the numbers on the paycheck...
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Worry and anxiety have worn me down to the bone
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...
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The Endless Baptism
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...
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Meteors
to sleep all day in loving arms or call my mother and hear her say Bushra? I was thinking of you right now to...