Grub Street Online

Leah Bushman on “In My Nightmares I am Calling Jeff Bezos ‘Daddy'” in Volume 70 of Grub Street

 

You can read Leah’s poem “In My Nightmares I am Calling Jeff Bezos ‘Daddy'” in Volume 70 of Grub Street, out now. Click here to view Volume 70. You can also read Leah’s poems “Between Sternum and Stomach” and “Our Sockets Won’t Stop Bleeding” on Grub Street‘s website. For the first poem, click here. For the second poem, click here.

 

Leah Bushman is a nature gazer and animal lover who rarely takes life seriously. This is her first publication. A Towson University graduate with a B.S. in English, she can be found on social media at @leahbushman.

Wen Wen Yang Reading “Ink Stains” Appearing in Volume 70 of Grub Street

You can view Wen Wen Yang’s pieces “Ink Stains” and “Lukewarm” in Volume 70 of Grub Street, out now. Click here to view Volume 70. Below, you can listen to a reading of “Ink Stains” by Wen Wen Yang.

 

 

Wen Wen Yang was born and raised in the Bronx, New York. She graduated from Barnard College, Columbia University, with a degree in English and creative writing. You can find her flash fiction “The Fox Spirit’s Retelling” in the anthology Remapping Wonderland: Classic Fairytales Retold by People of Color.

Online Poetry Exclusive: “Aubade” by Jesse Wolfe

 

Her brown curls heaped on the pillow,
the comforter sprawled below her breasts.
She fled into her magazine.

For a minute, motionless, he stood.
Starlings chattered in the walnut tree.

*………. * ……….*

In days they decided on a baby.
It was not the last “decision.”

* ……….* ……….*

As, like coils of hair, they each unraveled
in stories too intricate for pianos or flutes,
he strained to envision that tableau
(the floral bed spread they bought in Berkeley;
her lips almost closing, moving back apart
as she subvocalized; his own feet sunk
into the carpet)
in successive surrogates of that home:
their beach bungalow in Venice,
their box apartment in Japan …

*………..* ………..*

She lingered in the garage, assembling
their grandson’s tricycle.
He’d be out of his wheelchair next month, or not.
They’d live to see the child’s graduation, or not.
Their years living apart
would come to seem natural—an exhalation—
or always hurtful and capricious.

He returned to his music stand.
For a week he’d been practicing
the first movement of this piece by Roussel.
He could be in high school again.
Focus, repetition. No expectations
save one note tilting toward the next.

 

Jesse Wolfe teaches English at California State University Stanislaus. His debut poetry chapbook, En Route, appeared in December 2020. He is the author of the scholarly monograph Bloomsbury, Modernism, and the Reinvention of Intimacy (Cambridge, 2011) and is completing a second scholarly book about intimacy in contemporary Anglo-American fiction.

KKUURRTT Reading “Live 4 The Livestream” Appearing in Volume 70 of Grub Street

 

You can read KKUURRTT’s piece “Live 4 The Livestream” in Volume 70 of Grub Street, out now. Click here to view Volume 70.

 

KKUURRTT is glad you read his thing. His novel, Good at Drugs, is forthcoming from Alien Buddha Press. He can be found on Twitter at @wwwkurtcom.

Mak Sisson on “The Woman Who Wanted to Plant Turnips” in Volume 70 of Grub Street

 

 

You can read Mak’s poem “The Woman Who Wanted to Plant Turnips” in Volume 70 of Grub Street, out now. Click here to view Volume 70. You can also read Mak’s poem “The Days the Deer Died” on Grub Street‘s website here, and Mak’s nonfiction piece “List of Symptoms of Something I Cannot Name That I Have Taped to my Fridge” here.

 

Mak Sisson is a graduate student at the University of Montana, studying environmental science and natural resource journalism. She aspires to save the planet and write about the environment, however local or global it may be. Her nonfiction, which appears in volume 69 of Grub Street, received first place nationally in alternative story form from the Columbia Scholastic Press Association. She currently works as a science writer for Modern Treatise.

Online Nonfiction Exclusive: “To Whom It May Concern” by Olivia Mclean

Dear White people, To whom it may concern,

 

I am writing to you not as an “angry Black woman” or as an angry person of color but as a young, scared Black woman and as a young, scared person of color. I am writing this letter with deep sorrow, pain, and disgust. I am writing this letter today regretting it, as it should have never come to this. But nevertheless, today I am writing this letter.

 

XX/X/XXXX

 

Dear white people,

 

……We don’t hate you. We are tired. We don’t despise you. We are tired. It is by luck, by chance; that you are white. Just remember, you too could have easily been in our situation. And my question to you is, would you be able to handle it? The emotional, physical, and mental torment. I ask again: Could you handle it? Could you handle the unjust fear? The unjust inequality? The unjust hate? Could you honestly tell me right now you would be able to handle not only what we are currently going through, but what we have gone through for centuries?

……Some of you have to be excused or warned about certain historical events in history before learning about them. Why is that? Is it because of the gruesome details and pictures? Is it because your heart goes out to our ancestors? Is it because you are tired of learning the same thing over and over and you can’t bear to sit through a forty-five-minute documentary on what our lives were like? We aren’t warned before we are gunned down. We weren’t warned before we were enslaved, and we will not be warned in the future. Could you handle that? If you couldn’t handle a mere history lesson of a snapshot of our lives, I think I can answer for you. No, you could not handle any of it. Nor do you wish to handle any of it. So why should we? So don’t dismiss, misplace, or excuse my lack of gratefulness when I voice my annoyance and blatant disgust when I hear a privileged white individual say, “I understand how you feel.” 

Sincerely,

XXXXXX

 

 

Dear police officers,

 

……We do not hate you. We fear you. I question the system that provides us with people like you, people who vow to protect and serve. There have been too many times when you have gotten away with killing us. 

……And the question is, why? Is it because you believe we are inferior? Is it because  our existence threatens you? Do you feel like you are doing justice to your badge? Does it sound better when you internally justify it as doing your country justice? The question that cannot seem to escape my mind is: why are you all threatened by us? That question should not be answered through numerous unnecessary killings. That question is one for you and you alone to settle with your consciences. 

……Allow me to elaborate on who I am referring to when I say, “all.” Although this letter is dedicated to police officers, I do not solely mean police officers, but the systems that employ them, the people who create systems to ensure Black people do not succeed. I am referring to our medical practices and our justice systems. I am, although it may seem out of place, also referring to our school systems. 

……With that being said, I do wonder how you, our protectors and enforcers of “fair” law, go home and sleep at night knowing you killed innocent people and you went unpunished. How do you go home and kiss your kids goodnight when hours ago, in the blink of an eye, you took that opportunity away from someone else? How do you go home at night and hug your spouse, knowing someone will never get a hug again from their loved one because you decided, despite not having known a single thing about this Black individual, except the one or two things you interpreted as truth, that they didn’t deserve to see another day? 

……I wonder: how do you all come to this conclusion in a fraction of a second? Do you get a little tickle in your left foot? Is it more of a gut feeling? Does your right eye twitch?  Is the left knee quivering? It must be something special that is occurring, something so special that only police officers possess this knack for knowing, in such little time, the worth of one’s life.  How do you go home at night and wake up the next morning and make a fresh pot of coffee knowing a man will never walk this earth again because you decided it was his time to leave? How do you go home at night knowing you took so many opportunities away from not only the person you murdered in cold blood but their family too? ? How do you even go home at night?

……One? sixty? One-hundred? Two hundred and fifty? How many. How many more children, brothers, fathers, mothers, cousins have to die before this ends? How many more names have to go down in history before this ends. How many more riots have to occur before this ends? How many more stories do we need to tell? Our bodies were not solely placed on this earth for people like you to fire off practice shots like you are at a range. We do not exist, nor should we exist, only to become a landmark in history. We are human just as you are, and our history needs to stop being written for us. “Justice will be served” in reality means justice will be served to certain people.

……I would not wish this life on anyone. Not the life of a Black person but the fear of living the life as a Black person in today’s society.

……When will it end.

Sincerely,

XXXXXX

 

May 25, 2020

Dear George Floyd,

 

……Your letter will be the shortest. Not because I lack the necessary sympathy or empathy. And It is not because I lack the format in which I hope the words will flow my mouth and transfer onto this paper. My reasoning for keeping your letter the shortest is rather simple. There are simply no words that yet exist that can express the whirlwind of emotions I feel while writing this. To say I’m saddened by your death would be the understatement of the year. To think that you will never return to your family simply because a man took it upon himself to take your life disgusts me. I am sorry that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am sorry that I am writing this letter. I am sorry that the system failed you. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. The tears that fill my eyes for you and for your family will not bring you back. The tears we all cry for you. The screams we scream for you, the fires we start in your name. None of it will bring you back and that is the worst part. No matter what we do you will not be back. I am sorry. I am sorry your life ended prematurely before you could reach your aspirations. I am sorry your family is one man less. I am sorry you will be a topic of conversation for generations throughout your family for something so troubling and I’m sorry all I can do is apologize for something that never should have happened to you or anyone. 

Sincerely, 

Olivia Mclean

 

 

I do not wish to be white or any other race. I wish for something that should not ever be one’s wish…equality. To say I want you all to look at me and not see colour would be an unfair and rather illogical request of mine. I want you all to see the colour of my skin, just as I wish to see the colour of your skin. However, I do not want to be judged for the colour of my skin, my hair texture, or the size of my lips. When I look at you all, I want to see the different shades of us that help make up the world we live in today. I want us to appreciate what has become so taboo as a topic in today’s society. No, our skin tone or other physical features do not and should not be the basis of judgment, rather a mere observation as we continue to make what should be natural, fair judgements based off what exists in one’s mind, body, heart, and soul, versus the minor details of physical appearance that we notice on the pathway to judgement.  

 

 

XX/XX/XXXX

And to the public,

 

……Black lives matter. That seems to threaten and enrage many people. And what is heard in response is all lives matter. It needs to be understood that the Black Lives Matter movement is not one negating the struggles of others. It is making those aware of our struggle as well. To say all lives matter in response to that is, however, negating our struggle. To say you understand what we are going through and how we feel is false. You will NEVER understand the pain we live through for simply having darker skin. We need not negate the progression that has been made but we are nowhere close to the end nor should we be. If men and women are still to be taken from this earth because of their melanin…We should not even speak of the progression made thus far. We should be embarrassed to speak of progression in a positive manner.

……Violence is never the answer and I would never condone it, but hear me out when I say I understand it. I feel for those who choose violence. It has been years of fighting a fight that seems like a losing battle. It is not easy to fight for rights that everyone should have. It is not easy to see unjust things go without punishment. People get tired. People get angry. So one can’t be surprised when violence has become a means to an answer.

Sincerely, 

XXXXXX

 

 

November 11, 2020

Dear 2020, 

 

……A letter is not sufficient enough for this year. Who would have thought we would live through a pandemic, Trump (the epitome of a patriarchal society), and everything else that spiraled down after he became president, on top of everything else wrong occurring during 2020. What can I say? We made it through multiple phases of the world being shut down and we made it through Trump. We have a ways to go, but all I can stomach saying right now is we made it thus far and that must go for something. I refuse to say anything else, call me superstitious…but I won’t risk it. 

……Two more months. 

Sincerely,

All 

 

 

XX/XX/XXXX

……And I somehow feel obligated to apologize for my blunt choice of words or topic. I feel this need to make it clear that my intentions, which are not to (never will be to) hurt anyone, gather pity from anyone especially an unknown audience, or provide any more unneeded hate. 

……I wrote this letter not as an “angry Black woman” or as an angry person of colour, but as a young scared Black woman and a young, scared person of colour.  

……I wrote this letter with deep sorrow, pain, and disgust. I wrote this letter today regretting it as it should have never come to this. But nevertheless, today I wrote this letter.

Sincerely,

Olivia Mclean

 

 

Olivia Mclean, an upcoming junior at Towson University, is working towards obtaining her degree in Exercise Science. She loves writing and finding creative ways to express what’s on her mind. She sees writing as a form of art, and one she can not imagine being apart from. She loves the idea that writing can express so many different emotions in various forms, and she hopes to continue exploring writing and learning from it.

Online Poetry Exclusive: “Womb Ache” by Elisabeth Blandford

The stork does not fly over my home.
It is empty and abandoned.
It is sticky and thick.

It is barren.

I’ve watched babies,
in their baskets,
slip from my body
into the fresh white bowl.
Pink water swirls away
in a hypnotizing whirlpool,
replaced by clear, clean water.

I press my ear to the baby blue walls,
listening to the creaking pipes
where my child swims.
Carried out like a corpse in a casket of blood.

With hands pressed to my stomach
I retreat.

The rest of the day
I listen for cries within pipes
wherever I go.

 

Elisabeth Blandford is studying English for Secondary Education at Towson University. Elisabeth’s passions include reading, writing, and teaching. When she’s not reading or writing she can be found running, rock climbing, hiking, or mountain biking.

Naomi Rogers on “For The Missing 545” in Volume 70 of Grub Street

 

 

You can view Naomi’s piece “For The Missing 545 (in honor of the lost children who were separated at the border due to the Trump administration’s immigration policy)” in Volume 70 of Grub Street, out now. Click here to view Volume 70.

 

Naomi Rogers is a Towson University student working toward a degree in gerontology and a minor in creative writing. She was recently published in Ligeia magazine and intends to continue to embark on creative projects while bettering the lives of older adults.

Chelsea Ayensu-Peters on “Don’t Wanna Wear” and “Undies and Lavender” in Volume 70 of Grub Street

 

You can view Chelsea’s pieces “Don’t Wanna Wear” and “Undies and Lavender” in Volume 70 of Grub Street, out now. Click here to view Volume 70. You can also view Chelsea’s piece “Glasses” on Grub Street’s website here.

 

Chelsea Ayensu-Peters is a sophomore at Towson University. Her art centers on drawing and painting. She draws character designs, and whatever ideas come to mind, but she hasn’t developed any consistent themes in her art. She’s still improving her style, so anything can change in the future.

Online Poetry Exclusive: “The Woman Sitting Across Me On The Subway” by Angie Kang

The Woman Sitting Across Me On The Subway

is made of clay and she keeps sweating, making the entire car smell like earth and salt and

change. She unwraps her shawl and reties it around her head to keep its domical shape, but

the fibers dig into the clay and leave an imprint. I try not to stare. I think it’s brave to go out

being so pliable and raw, so blatantly unfinished and proudly in progress. It does no good to

go into the kiln before you’re ready to be cremated. Dry clay dust is toxic and once inhaled

settles in your lungs in silty layers until the breath is choked out of you.

 

Angie Kang is an illustrator and writer living in Providence, Rhode Island. Her writing has been published or is forthcoming in Narrative, Porter House Review, Lunch Ticket, Hobart, and others. Find more of her work at www.angiekang.net, or on instagram @anqiekanq.