May 17, 2016
Henri Rousseau On the forest floor, the trees growing with bananas and peaches. A flower in the distance is as pink as a sunset flying away and the light blue and gray sky is like a fan trying to blow...
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May 12, 2016
By Ann Teplick, WITS Writer-in-Residence Sleep in a field of salmon peonies. A rooftop with saxophone jazz. A sand dune with peacocks. All the warm night, sleep by the creek with its burble, th...
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May 11, 2016
As part of our Required Reading series, we share a list of three essential works for each of SAL’s featured writers. Up this time: groundbreaking poet, essayist, and playwright Claudia Rankine...
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May 5, 2016
Bathing in India Before I was a citizen of this country, I was a citizen of the bucket. Staring at the water right under my nose. I don’t believe I can fit. Lifting me up, my mom tells me it is the ...
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May 2, 2016
In My Own Underwater World Sometimes I feel like a fish in a tank in the jungle – out of place, silent while everyone is roaring, squawking respected in their hidden languages and I just sit there...
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April 26, 2016
By Matt Gano, WITS Writer-in-Residence when the poems with long lines salted raw on page make you aware of your meat, mark them with an asterisk, for the sky she fills with ink Over the past year, fel...
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March 23, 2016
Burning When you tease me, I feel like I’m burning, and you lock the oven with words like, “I hate you.” As I burn, I try to put out the flames with tears, but you just laugh. Someti...
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February 16, 2016
Months Later Let me tell you about the day my tongue broke down. It melted into fine dust, iridescent particles of lies and rabbit-quick explanations I tried to get underneath where you used to be, bu...
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