Category: landscape

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Along the vertex, where two bodies (heavenly
            or otherwise)
Intersect, the minor tasks and major 
            efforts that lend life
A narrative, a geometric center, the appalling

            beauty of the abstract, 

What Ails Me, Sara Nicholson

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you ever look at a thing
you ain’t make, but become
a mother in the looking?
our blood is a thread tied
around my finger, tied
around her finger, that helps
me love. when her knees
swell, when her joints rust,
when her hair thins & flees
making a small continent
of skin on the side of her head,
i am witnessing her in whatever
state her body will allow.
Bismillah to the brain that
put my name next to her name
and said look at this girl your
whole life and know some kind
of peace.

Ode to Dalya’s Bald Spot, Angel Nafis

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“run the country” (NPR)

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Johanna Fateman’s The Year (2025) in Art. (Cultured)

• Jack Whitten, The Messenger (MoMA)
• Jennifer Packer, Dead Letter” (Sikkema Malloy Jenkins)
• A 2007 portrait of Zohran Mamdani by Salman Toor
• et al

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… attempts to find a practical approach to the common ground that Black and poor urban dwellers and environmentalists share have failed. Why? Environmentalists generally have failed to acknowledge or recognize the more immediate problems with which an urban dweller must contend. On the other hand, urban dwellers have failed to see the possibilities for the development of more urban open space (parks, recreation centers, etc.) as a source, not only of beauty, but also of employment, job development, a better environment for the rearing of children, and so forth.
In short, we must see a merger of land conservation and “human conserva­tion”-the interconnection between the preservation of our natural and human resources, recognizing that each have little without the other.

The Black Panther Party, Service to the People Programs, Edited and with an Afterword by David Hilliard

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Black Doves, S1E1, “To Love Then”

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Sitting deeply in grief,  
in deep grief and mourning  
morning and night.

The knights nowhere  
to be seen. Sight  
is a witness, complicit. 

From minarets and church pits,  
we illicit faith. The eve  
of Christ’s birth 

almost here. Hear the Earth  
as it receives the body’s  
soft and exposed tissues, the heart 

hard as a rock, the rock no longer 
figurative. We lost even  
the figures of our children. The outline 

of a body, jagged front line,  
bulldozed memory. Our eyes open  
to the mouth of a weapon. 

Someone, somewhere, is playing  
the violin in the background  
of violence.

Before all of this, we didn’t think    
too often of heaven. We wanted to fly  
through clouds, not above them. 

Gaza I, Sara Abou Rashed

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