We all must demand a ceasefire now. Our witnessing and demanding change is how we can all be helpers for all children.
He’s unaware he’s built
like a bowling pin,
that his shaved head shines
like Mr. Clean and everybody
stares when he waddles
Death to the Arabs—death
to the children, who keep
crouching in the cupboards.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
From six to ten pounds, our cremains
Will weigh, the visible fragments
White or gray, the largest pieces
Ground to sand-size for discretion
And the ease of our scattering.
I sometimes think I recognize the face
of my own death. Knowing it is nearer
makes me feel it ought to be familiar,
a neutral guest I’ve seen somewhere before.
Okay,
God of crib death
and dirty needles,
of heroin and fentanyl,
God of twisted steel
burning beside the road
Silence is winter’s sonata, a moody, tuneless trill of wind and creaking branches, and the muffled voice of a crow trying to call out through the blur of snowfall.
But sun-shimmered, it’s a very nice
light to watch a day arrive through,
rainbowed red and gold and silver-blue.
We’ve subscribed to your magazine for a long time. We remember your recommendations for canned tomatoes and comparison of the nutritive value of brands of store bread, when those were … Continue reading →
We wrote the following essay in response to JAMA’s promotion of ethical ambiguity around bombing hospitals. It was rejected for publication—yet another act of institutional silencing.
We now have approximately 18,000 email subscribers, one third outside the United States, and our posts are picked up by social media where they often go viral. For example, Zeina Azzam’s poem Write My Name, published in November 2023, has been translated into Arabic, Spanish, French, and Japanese, as well as other languages, and read by millions.
I try
not to think of all the time I spent
going over what went wrong
between us, how badly I missed
who I wanted her to be