My toughest college class sounded easy—it was only a single credit and promised a trip to New York City. I was desperate to travel and liked singing, so joining choir seemed like a win-win.
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I began going to therapy after a difficult postpartum. My therapist often read incomplete sentences aloud and asked me to fill in the blanks: I like [coffee]. I regret [my birth experience]. My greatest fear is [change]. A mother is [perfect].
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When we met, I was freelancing as a photographer while finishing my degree. He was older, more established in the industry. We began dating. I saw his large-format film camera, his home darkroom, and immediately it became apparent I was an amateur.
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June 2022. The Amtrak is coming in. Its headlight down the track—closer, widening—falling across the bright afternoon. I’m hanging back on the concrete platform, not so much because it’s safer that way, but to avoid the summer rays.
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Kafka’s Metamorphosis is a kind of dream or nightmare—it’s a work of psychological anxiety, not a call for revolution. Or, at least, that’s the usual interpretation. Elizabeth R. McClellan’s poem “The Later Life of Herr Samsa’s Picture” takes a different approach: It crawls into the margins of Kafka’s story and drags out a parable about feminist working class queer solidarity, all the more precious for being found in such an unlikely place.
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I can’t start this review without thinking about jason b. crawford’s context: A Black, queer, nonbinary human with years of experience loving and experiencing violence in America, specifically in the North and Midwest.
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While reading Jehanne Dubrow’s new collection of essays, Taste: A Book of Small Bites, published in August of 2022 by Columbia University Press, I came down with Covid and lost my senses.
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