In today’s Feminists We Love feature, writer, performer and arts activist Toshi Reagon talks with TFW Associate Editor Mecca Jamilah Sullivan about feminist lineages, the...
. January You called me She instead of You. “Where is she going now?” is the first question you ever asked me. You were standing on...
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Slipping Under Like a ghost, I prepare a bath behind a door that hasn’t locked long as I remember. When my mother...
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...
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...
fairy tales 2 I wish I could spit rhymes with the ease of a liberated tongue, relay my stories minus the empty hours of...
By Lindsay Lusby Girl with no Hands Her own father mistook her for an apple tree, full-trunked and red-cheeked. . So he hacked at limbs,...
from New Organism: Essais I want to think like a magi; as stones underwater reflect grief. How images capture tone, and temperature of what...
Sleepless song If you had seen the sea flooded with flowers and my words in your hands in my hands the air burning...
The Walking Dead Girl in my history class totally started looking like a zombie from The Walking Dead. ...
Tourists By Em Bowen Around this time last year, I started to read books about grief. I like to think that I did this because...
3/4 Profile by Rasiqra Revulva “A night full of talking that hurts, my worst held-back secrets: everything has to do with loving and not loving...
By Dia Felix Into our night, I curl like a snail. To the bottom of the silver bridge, a tiny snail sticks. In this heat...
By Maya Pindyck The Count His command: Hold out your hand. Grabs her palm, the shade of white asparagus. Shoves in it a...
By Mohadesa Najumi Dedicated to my mother. They try to shrink you. Tame you. Convince you that all your rage is a product of your...
How to be a Normal Family 1. A small girl wriggles around on the couch under a blanket. Rubs the soft corner against her cheek....
By Natalie Hartsfield-Crowe He didn’t want to fuck me from across the street. But he did notice my fine gold fish net hair then...