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Doing Wholeheartedly by Helanius J. Wilkins

My family never identified as Creole. We always identified as Black. Creole was an integral aspect of our lives, but we embraced it as a way of life; we didn't identify as it. As I create this work my thoughts are circling around my Creole ties and notions of bloodlines and legacy.

“Her”: Future Awe by Mark Lieberman

In writer-director Spike Jonze’s Her, Joaquin Phoenix plays the man some of us might turn out to be in twenty or thirty years. Burdened...

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Five Poems by Virginia Bell

Meuse I Pron.: /ˈmjuz/ a depression leftin the grass, a shallowbowl, or profound, a gap in the hedgethe hog trespassed, in otherwords, not the animal but the space...

Two Poems by Ann-Marie Maloney

The Marrow of My Bones There is a hurt that runs so deep within the marrow of my bones, Twisted lies Deceiving smile Words dipped in scalding...

Two Poems by Maggie Rosen

My Milk Glass Mother You were my thunderstorm mother. You were my abalone mother. You were my milk glass mother. You reveled in flaws. You turned an opaque...
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