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A Public Space

No. 27

No schism occurs without a few pangs and regrets, of course. The animals had heretical ideas, but sometimes they seemed herer than we were. Maybe it was because bits and bytes flew over their heads. Maybe the animals were only ever going to listen to someone who spoke in moons and stars. Of course we never would have stooped to that, pandering to wallabies and penguins, handing out stars like handing out candy. If only there had been some river that could have washed all that magic off, all that moonshine, without washing them away as well.
—Amy Leach

 

Table of Contents



 

Note

Language

This is an issue of thinking about language, and its resilience.

Brigid Hughes


 

Art

Passage


 

Portrait

Hair

David Sims


 

Correspondence

137 Northeast Regional

I would have fallen in love with him too had not so many others done so already.

Mónica de la Torre


 

Music

Scores for Flares

Philip Corner


 

Essay

Strangers

Now that our intelligence, having accelerated for centuries, has almost attained unimpeachability, we are not taking it lightly.

Amy Leach


 

Fiction

A Few Necessary Questions

It was cruel, it was unspeakable, to allow innocence to mock itself this way.

John L’Heureux


 

Portrait

Hues

Jamil Hellu


 

Portfolio

Public Access

The Travelogues of Ahmad Fа̄ris Shidyа̄q

The concept of civilization has acquired such popularity.

Ahmad Fа̄ris Shidyа̄q


 

Fashion

Unwearable Dress

Paco Rabanne


 

Architecture

Rural Studio

Samuel Mockbee


 

Fiction

Look Up.

Maybe he should jump out of a plane. Does risk wake you up?

Lea Carpenter


 

Poetry

Calligraphies IX

Remember longing / when it was legitimate, / remember writing / in an emerging language.

Marilyn Hacker


 

Portrait

A Girl and Her Room

Rania Matar


 

Fiction

The Tramp

What kind of mischief are you up to?

John Haskell


 

History

So You Think I’m the Prometheus of the Literary World

I fashion my works from clay.

Lucian


 

Art

The Acephalous Series

Laylah Ali


 

Poetry

After Pasternak, 1917

in dark / cold sleep, each branch a midnight / candelabrum of the cosmos.

Reginald Gibbons


 

Poetry

Obit

Could I / identify my mother by her hands? / Her feet?

Victoria Chang


 

Poetry

Dear Millennium, On The Debt Of Love Among Strangers

Once I told you, love is a partial /anagram of solvency. Dear millennium, please— / I owe you nothing.

Karen An-hwei Lee


 

Poetry

After Doris Salcedo

Shoes of disappeared women / hovering in holes in walls

Mark Bibbins


 

Poetry

Sea of Ice

One might fail to notice / a hull amid the frozen waves.

Callie Siskel


 

Poetry

After Susan Rothenberg’s Untitled Drawing, No. 41, 1997

The horse gallops / fog under its chin

Lily Brown


 

Poetry

Dream Song #322

The curtains were the color of red wine / The bedspread the color of sand

Daniel Borzutzky


 

Portrait

Wrinkles

Noa Zilberman


 

Poetry

On Silence

Such is the silence / of a woman who speaks against silence.

Ilya Kaminsky


 

Fiction

Zuiver

History was mutable and distorted… Life had given him permission to play with it.

Eva Speer


 

Fellow

Tipping

I always knowed I had some of my momma in me. All that hell. All that hardness.

LaToya Watkins


 

Fellow

Almost Human

They said never to trust an Indian who doesn’t want to go back to his own reservation.

Deborah Taffa


 

Fellow

Diversions

There isn’t much to tell. Tell me anyway. Soothe this old heart.

Bruna Dantas Lobato


 

Archive

Scrapbook Houses

Of all Edith Wharton's characters, Lily Bart is most her author's architectural id.

Annie Coggan


 

Debate

On Plot

I’ve lost my taste for anything that isn’t made up.

Ryūnosuke Akutagawa & Jun’ichirō Tanizaki


 

Fiction

Problems of an Empire

How important to designate even the most unimportant occurrence: What is nameless cannot exist.

Nanos Valaoritis


 

Architecture

Akron Boys and Girls Club

Samuel Mockbee

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