miresistencia

D WATKINS: Stoop Stories. Black Baltimore.

This. These words here, THIS VOICE. I remember trying to explain, during the elections in 2004, why I didn’t consider myself represented on either side. I couldn’t articulate what seemed so blatantly clear to me that I actually grew numb, would find myself jaw-gaping–couldn’t clearly get the words to say: HOW DO YOU CALL YOURSELF…

Friday, but not my town poem

Friday but not my town, a hawk flies & wings in the air make trilling sound imagined, as the screech above and outside my door puts the hair to raise up on my arms. I am thinking of you again, not for nothing but need for magic. And men. My mother, I finally told her…

My Brother’s Keeper by amina wadud

Originally posted on Feminism and Religion:
When my son was a teenager, living with his father in another state, he came to visit me in the suburbs of Virginia. He is nearly 6 feet tall, chestnut brown skinned. Like many suburbs there is no concept of the corner store. But about a half mile from…

The Women’s Work

Two Thursday’s ago, in the low, monastic candle-lit room here in the hobbit house in the canyon wall, I prepared wordlessly for an important initiation. Not that of an ancient rite or mysterious sect. To all appearances, in fact, it was little more than a scholastic necessity. I prepared to drive to Santa Barbara, to…

Call for Submissions: Riot Wise

Call for Submissions! Introducing Riot Wise…a Zine-to-be with the kind of gems from riotgrrrl’s all grown up…Who have well-fought Wild (not socially programmed) Wisdom! Riot Wise wants work from Ladies & Gents—I’m looking for YOUR personal stories!!! of YOU! About the complexities of finding, or honoring your self, taking you seriously, that struggle, confusion, frustration,…

Confession by Darlena Cunha

Originally posted on Feminism and Religion:
Good afternoon, Fr. John. I’m here for confession. No, I’d like the curtain back, please. I want you to see my face. I really need to talk to you, get my bearings. But this confession will not be solely about my sins, for, unfortunately, I am not sure I…

RANT. Plenty of fish?

Seriously, the amount of “men”–or, as what I am about to write might indicate–Peter Pans on the dating site makes me laugh again and again, makes me shake my head. Ok, truth? I guess my curiosity HAS gotten the best of me, I need to know– What has your life been like that the amount…

Open Letter to Brooks Long, on the prophecy moon of summer fruit.

Catfish, I was sitting on the floor in my hobbit house, on two plush pillows that are hand-me-downs from the upstairs neighbor who moved out. I live in a hand-me-down house. I was sitting in the hand-me-down hobbit house on hand-me-down pillows on the floor, on a hand-me-down rug from the woman who lived…

Virgil McFarland

Virgil McFarland called me eighteen times in one night. The honey-tongued woman on the recording said nine of those times the same thing into my voice mail, “an inmate from the North County Penitentiary is trying to reach you, press one to accept this call, press the pound sign to deny.” When you pressed one…