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Articles by Jackie White
Abecedarian for the Walking Woman
Alleys: never. Boulevard: maybe. But only in broad daylight. Corners: not without a label. Dead end to end up dead. Entrance: not without a fee. Fear? Always. on route to a gangplank. Hill: where they found Heather's body. Into the garden: a flaming sword swung against Eve. Near Joshua Tree: more bodies and next to a knoll: a doll. Livid? Also always. when loathed as marionettes in the morning; nowhere girls by night. Overlook: not without witnesses.
January From a Window at Sunset by Edward Wilson
The flush of leaving’s what we notice most— thus, the white glint of a steeple on the ridge across the river under a sky preparing for stars, wisps of cloud alchemizing pink to orange. All miracle, not least for not involving us, who under this, in this, take it for granted, else meet madness or find God. We have a lot to lose and we will some season. Meantime: these bare trees to which the birds come back, filling the branches the way from dreams from sleep each morning we come back to ourselves.
When Brushstrokes Dance in Concentric Circles by Hedy Habra
When after a heavy rain, nature’s prism refracts light, juxtaposed colors seem to coexist peacefully within an invisible threshold, the way an elderly couple stays close while protecting unspoken boundaries. The artist makes the rainbow swirl wild over the canvas as a conductor raising his wand through colored patterns’ rhythms, creating occasional collisions. Broken dialogues reveal angles replete with hidden whispers.
February is a Bludgeoning by Samaa Abdurraqib
Why is February this way? I wonder to no one, to the memory of my mother, my car pushing through low morning fog. February could be a doorway. Instead, it is a brick fallen from nowhere, there on the side of the road. Hatch Marks on a Wall February Cold Fingers Down My Throat February February’s pages are full of names. All the ones who found they couldn’t hang on until the spring. Just a quick release of hands. Speaking of death – February is my mother. And my aunt, her sister.
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