Uttara: Fire
As dawn was breaking,
wisdom rose in the east—
and set fire to the long dark night.
Abby Zimet: Ukraine’s Battle of the Somme
Putin’s bloody debacle in Ukraine reflects a system “in which medievalism meets Stalinism meets dark farce.”
Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum: The Toddler
Almost anything will break
The toddler’s heart: His mommy’s keys
Singing from the bowl of loose ends
And change on her way out the door
For work.
Jacob Goodwin: America Should Not Be Governed by Fear—And Neither Should Its Teachers
Robust civic life requires a renewed focus on civics and history in our public schools and a reversal of a decades-long trend limiting instructional time.
Nancy Krygowski: “Here’s a Partial List of Mass Shootings in the United States So Far This Year”
Here’s the full list of the people the murdered have kissed.
Here’s a pair of slippers made of birds’ beaks, ear plugs made of screams.
Hanganh Vo: COP27 | Progress or Performance?
COP27 was sponsored by Coca-Cola, the world’s leading polluter of plastics. Unilever, Microsoft, ExxonMobil, Endesa, and a host of coal companies are past sponsors.
Tony Gloeggler: Working Class Heroes
My father opened the trunk,
tossed me my glove with a worn
hardball tucked in its pocket, eased
into a catcher’s crouch as I paced
60 feet away.
Tom Engelhardt: When Will Climate Change Become the Crucial Issue in American Elections?
We’re now on a tipping-point planet.
Patricia Jabbeh Wesley: Erecting Stones
Here, in Congo Town, I’m picking up debris
from twenty years ago. Some remnants of bombs
and missile splinters, old pieces of shells from
the unknown past.
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: The Prayers
I had not imagined drowning
was the way to reach the shore.
Mike Vargo: The Not-So-Zen of Running
People admire my dedication to running. “What discipline you must have!” they say, and they’re wrong. I run because I enjoy it.
Video: Kae Tempest performs More Pressure | Grace
I used to think
Things were so clear
I was so near to nowhere
Fred Everett Maus: Listening to Bach, Three Days after a Shooting
It’s quiet in the room where I am writing.
Bright afternoon sun flows in, oblique,
glorious light in these days of mourning,
perfection pouring down on a shattered world.
Christina Rossetti: A Dirge
Why were you born when the snow was falling?
