by Trevor Moffa
Pockmarks in the Pittsburgh dark
Midnight oil burning portals open
Like potholes in the empty streets
Peopled apartments, blocks of offices
Being cleaned for morning, light
Left on in a hurry
…
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On the car ride home from a family vacation
my stepfather is half focused on the road
half bored with the radio
my mother sleeps
my two kid brothers blankly stare at a little screen
I vehemently listen to headphones
and crave a cigarette
my baby sister gazes out the window
smiles occasionally
“Over time, I realized as I found my native language of expression, it led to poetry … and once I had that freedom in sign language, it led to so much more.” — Douglas Ridloff
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With the ongoing struggles to prevent American history from being whitewashed in classrooms, which we’ve recently seen in Trump’s attack on the 1619 Project, we can’t ignore the removal of Beloved from high school curriculums. It’s journey, it seems, is likely not yet over.
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But what does “inappropriate” mean? Too inappropriate for your current age? Inappropriate because of ideals you don’t hold? Suggestive of alternative lifestyles? Yes — to all of the above.
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In recognition of Banned Books Week, Sampsonia Way presents a selection of exclusive interviews, excerpts, and profiles of the banned writers who have appeared in our pages – from imprisoned Chinese activists to American poets.
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by Trevor Moffa
Pockmarks in the Pittsburgh dark
Midnight oil burning portals open
Like potholes in the empty streets
Peopled apartments, blocks of offices
Being cleaned for morning, light
Left on in a hurry
…
Read more...
by Gemma DeMeo
“I didn’t need to ask./ I already knew/ what a rough night at the bar/ was like for her.”
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On the car ride home from a family vacation
my stepfather is half focused on the road
half bored with the radio
my mother sleeps
my two kid brothers blankly stare at a little screen
I vehemently listen to headphones
and crave a cigarette
my baby sister gazes out the window
smiles occasionally
by Debbie Wilkinson
“Will you tuck me in?”
Years ago picking through stones
worn down in the nestling sand,
I showed you how to slip them smooth across the rustling water,
while waves shimmered into sleep. …
by Richard Schnap
“The train from Pittsburgh to New York/ Felt like a magic voyage to him then/ As he watched the green pastures of Pennsylvania/ Pass by with their fields of wheat/ And herds of cows that dozed in the sun”
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by Brian Richards
“But this is a sideglance world and to the lowering eyes/ Of even my friends I have grown tall but dangerous/ Childless and dark dark dark darkling of intention/ With who knows what lessons to share”
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by Kara Knickerbocker
& if you had a map out of your body, where would it go?
What is the point of exit you’d choose to leave yourself?
I’d choose the wounds already claimed:
the fried egg-shaped scar burned above my left knee,
