Praise the Light of Late October So soon we have reached the cusp of October where we trade in our apples and peonies for pumpkins and sweet alyssum. The outstretched…
The first issue of Yaba Left Review has taken its sweet time to arrive. In a sense, its appearance around the holiday season was partly intentional and aspirational. We intended to kill the tentativeness and tap-dancing around the launching date.
My Roommate Translated during Just Cause—lying on his bed, the darkness, telling me he had to talk, and I said to talk then and the crickets were gone and the…
Gratitude for What we have become After Sanam Sheriff For time & space whittled down to water beneath our tender feet shaped into a paddling mechanism of movement and our…
“I do not know if hurt is my birthright”— Jason B. Crawford knuckle withholds an English suffering, clenched in fierce strain. my unsheathed hands, hurled spacelike, knifing a worship. there…
20.10.20 there are no rules except those against protests. the silence came for us before the bullets. every wound devours itself. dark green molds in the lips culturing a system…
Cry Timber The arborist has gone quite mad. For every tree felled another woodland grows. He saws and saws, and there is no end to his sawing. The mills are…
A piercing through the dark In the face of darkness, this secluded space is a pathology likewise to live alone in it. My heart keeps failing in bits, as the…
Roots Love grows in the evening Dies at dawn There is not enough prophecy about hearts How it can become vapor Fighting for space in the sky There are many…