“We are trying our best to bring forth every strand of Latinidad and also be able to put the idea of “Latinidad” under a microscope and criticize it and dig up its dirt and try to shut down anti-blackness. We’re starting to come to terms with the fact that Latinx isn’t a race, even if it is a marginalized group heavily targeted by the president. Everything is constantly redefining itself and it’s nice to be a part of the cycle.”
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This series — Latinx & Proud! — is a look into the world of Latinx literature and the poets who use language to explore the boundaries of their communities and identities. By sharing these interviews and articles, we hope […]
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by Timmy Miller & Sarah Gross The following conversation is part of an ongoing series called Memories in Exile, in which we interview current and former resident writers […]
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The following conversation is part of an ongoing series called Memories in Exile, in which we interview current and former resident writers who have come to Pittsburgh and lived in exile on Sampsonia Way. The […]
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In this Writer’s Block, recorded and taped in the summer of 2019, Cornelius Eady discusses his creative influences, his writing process, and how Cave Canem has evolved over the years. Interview by Rosa Williamson-Rea and Maggie […]
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by Erin Hyatt
Here, it is always 1985.
There is spoiled chicken
salad on the patio furniture;
there are apricots
rotting on the ground.
I sink my teeth into July,
and boil orange fruit to the bone
on a gasoline fire that stinks
like rust. Just down the road,
an old tractor hums back to life.
by Abigail Gallen Abigail Gallen is a 17-year-old rising senior at Lincoln Park Performing Arts Charter School. She is the founder and president of the Social Justice Club at North Allegheny High School, and […]
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by Tresa Murphy Green Did you know what it meant to the ocean when you ran from its tide? When fear exacerbated your motions & the salt waters were too vast to hide did you know […]
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by Kayla Sargeson White car/no “Lyft” sticker. He bops his head to his friend’s mixtape, some wannabe Lil Pump shit. Do you want a donut? he says. Hands me a yellow store bag, cold maple donuts […]
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by Christina Springer A night manager accepts the moon’s detritus fills ‘n empties her. In battered women’s West Virginia, my shelter is deep down the hollow’s gaping crack. Past trailers like lice, crab grass, on blocks […]
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by James Croal Jackson Death is in the shriveled blue and purple hydrangea bouquet I gifted you. Kathy bought the same, smaller, but they did not last so much as linger. Mom calls me from Macy’s— […]
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by Gwendolyn A. Mitchell Every once in a while, I get lost in the winter evening just after dusk. I am Downtown waiting for the 82 Lincoln, standing across the street from what should be Gimbels […]
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