The figs, arranged in still life,
as if by Chardin’s quiet violence;
the house exists to hold them.
Bruised bodies beaded dark wet,
glisten pressed to porcelain in this
astonished kitchen whiteness, this
bewildered daybreak rose.
We know just by looking how
the mouth will form around them,
the subtle shape of promise
and of fleeting tongue-burst flesh.
In this 28th edition of Waccamaw, the Nigerian poet Fasasi Abdulrosheed Oladipupo unpacks the meaning…
[wc_row] [wc_column size="one-half" position="first"] Editorial Team Nonfiction Editor: Amy Singleton Poetry Editor: Brittany Davis Poetry…
The S.C. Creative Sociology Writing Competition invited undergraduate and graduate students from any discipline in…
Museum: a depository of grief displayed aesthetically; I carry the mishaps of things I want…
we say the knife is dead, or the mouth of the knife is dead because…
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