Category: Arts

Muldoon, Between the Tropics

To read good poetry is to pull a Band-Aid off a wound. I heard someone say that once. Not a big wound, maybe just a paper-cut, where the skin puffs pink and new. When we remove the covering we return … Read More

by on

The Twenty Years War

Duncan Nussbaum always had a feeling God was out to get him. When he was six years old, he was eating a cheese sandwich – this was back when his parents still kept kosher – and snatched a piece of … Read More

by on

The Nass Recommends!

A ream of recommendations from the Nass’ mind to yours.

by , , on

Grace

Sig loves me. He’s sitting at the counter, eating a bagel right now, but I know he’s thinking about me. Today, like every Sunday, he sits all day here in this café where I work. A man across the coffee … Read More

by on

Two Poems

BOX You’d handed me the thing because I’d asked to read your letters, made in Romania— not that you’d been there yourself, but from an aunt, you spoke, half-crazy. And because it was a puzzle, you said: Open it. You … Read More

by on

I had a cough all my life. It stood by my side.

Near dusk, we owe an appropriate fear to the light that may not show on the hilly back of the morning beast. Mother takes our picture at sunset. Her finger pushing and begging that button to hold everything still, appeases … Read More

by on

Mixed Tongues

One sunny Saturday morning, at the end of my first week in Japan, Ms. Shinako arrived, packaged gift in hand, bowing deeply and smiling as she stepped through the door. She was in her mid-twenties, petite and a little bit … Read More

by on

Gibraltar

We expect the days like this, but they come only when they like, and carrying their monstrous young inside them, waiting. There were dust motes, but Philip didn’t see them. Nor could he remember faces, just then, nor forms. There … Read More

by on

Portraits of My Father

He no longer sleeps in the bed they shared. He did for a little while, which surprised me. I would have thought her absence would have been the most palpable there, but I suppose the imprint on her pillow was the nearest thing he had to a kiss goodbye.

by on

ADEQUITE by LINDSEY MORGAN LOHAN

He Died and I CRIED – no I swear that I did Many tears down my face like a litle tiny kid Warm and Wet they were like a facial from Wilmer And I wished Robert was there so he’d … Read More

by on

In the Temporality of Chalk

“Through my chalk drawing, I wanted to engage with the concept of fluidity and a flexible present. What if the priority was not permanence, but the process?”

by on

Smoke that Thunders

A hump of grass bulges into the spray of Victoria Falls is one of the world’s seven Wonders are easier to count than to Think of the woman on the bulge Gardens usually accept water like hands into a Hand … Read More

by on