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Articles by Crisosto Apache
From “Swift Cinder”
sulfur striking sulfur strikes sulfur struck a lighter light of lit kų [fire] spark kų [fire] ignite kų [fire] fuel kų [fire] flame kų [fire] combustion kų [fire] blast lenient blast blasting latent blast blasted lasting steadfast from fire from ignition
Q&A with Natasha Rao, author of Latitude
Natasha Rao is the author of Latitude (Copper Canyon Press, 2021). Her poem “For my Brother” was previously published in The Offing. Q&A conducted by Gauri Awasthi, Associate Editor. Donate to The Offing! Our Patreon supporters received early access to the interview with The Offing contributor Natasha Rao. The Offing pays our contributors, and we appreciate the help of all of our supporters in sustaining our work.
Gahé Dzíł / Mountain Spirits
Circling around flames and dancing with the blazes Encumbering sparks take flight into the night sky, A swirling twinkle resembling a star crown Moving into empty canopies resembling ghosts A threshold colossal structure with rusty bells shakes the sound of fire sings lingering beyond the flames sent across the mountain and valleys These spirits come from the mountains and move towards the south, between the sacred narrow canyons, The Sierra Madre Canyon walls sing in their echoes A medicine...
Q&A with Joshua Nguyen, author of Come Clean - The Offing
Joshua Nguyen is the author of Come Clean (University of Wisconsin Press), winner of the 2021 Felix Pollak Prize in Poetry. He’s also a co-editor of The Offing‘s Wit Tea department. Q&A conducted by Gauri Awasthi, Editorial Assistant. Donate to The Offing! Our Patreon supporters received early access to this Q&A with The Offing editor Joshua Nguyen and receive other perks as well. The Offing pays our contributors, and we appreciate the help of all of our supporters in sustaining our work.
Kúghą/Home by Crisosto Apache
In the outskirts in a room on the second floor he slept and woke. —Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, tr.
37 Common Characteristi(x)s of a Displaced Indian…
—for Antonio Gomez . . . it seems like the whites don't want to get involved with the Indians. They think we're bad. We drink. Our families drink. Dirty. Ugly. And the teachers don't want to help us . . . because they don't understand. So we stop asking questions, [Donna Deyhle, quote by a Native student].
Q&A with Leila Mansouri, author of "Nothing to Declare"
Leila Mansouri’s “Nothing to Declare” was published in The Offing’s Fiction department on November 22, 2021. Q&A conducted by Di Jayawickrema, Assistant Fiction Editor. Donate to The Offing! Our Patreon supporters received exclusive early access to this Q&A with The Offing contributor Leila Mansouri and receive other perks as well. The Offing pays our contributors, and we appreciate the help of all of our supporters in sustaining our work.
Q&A with Yanyi, author of Dreams of the Divided Field
Yanyi is the author of Dreams of the Divided Field (One World, 2022). His poem “Inheritance” from The Year of Blue Water was previously published in The Offing. Q&A conducted by Crisosto Apache, Associate Poetry Editor. Donate to The Offing! Our Patreon supporters received exclusive early access to the full video interview with The Offing contributor Karen Cheung and receive other perks as well.
Q&A with Gabrielle Civil, author of ( ghost gestures )
Excerpts from ( g h o s t g e s t u r e s ) by Gabrielle Civil were published in The Offing on July 30, 2021. This interview has been edited for clarity and pace. I’m at Chinatown’s Poetic Research Bureau in Los Angeles. As we wait for Gabrielle Civil to begin, I notice a fish swimming in a bowl on the podium.
Presence: The Heartspeak of Indigenous Poets: Crisosto Apache
Presence: The Heartspeak of Indigenous Poets: Crisosto Apache As a poet, I struggle with language—the English that America force-fed down my ancestors’ throats during assimilation and the Boarding School Era. My mouth struggles to reclaim the language of my ancestors as I try to learn words in my mother tongues. I write these words while sitting on Ute, Cheyenne, and Arapaho lands.
Carrizo by Crisosto Apache
in my youth, I hitched a ride to San Diego, across each night, I stood beneath the sky for hours mesmerized at the perplex reformatory, twinkling lights of broken too bad, you know nothing of your own past how far will I walk against the night?
Laughter by Crisosto Apache
Coyote asks her how she keeps them in a straight line, Duck says she sews them together and tugs on the line gently, that is how she keeps her ducklings in a row she plucks a few strands of tail hair and returns to her burrow the next morning, one by one she begins to sew her pups together when she finishes, she gently tugs on the horsehair and drags their little bodies along the ground, Coyote tilts her head in dismay and becomes distraught, she realizes she has killed her little pups...
Death by Crisosto Apache
it is prohibited to whisper the names of the dead, as it encourages them to linger at the doorstep, and she has already lingered, far too long
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