I WILL SPEAK FOR YOU, MY DEAR

by Judy Juanita

I will speak for you, my dear

since nobody seems to have heard of you 

even now that Gloria Steinem is dead

I see you trembling as he punched you with his fist

I see you hit the kitchen floor after he knocked you down

in front of us, his children

I hear him curse you over and over

when he lost at the racetrack

I feel the broomstick on my back 

when his fury at his losing horse boiled over

I will speak for you, my mother

since nobody has heard of you 

even now that Gloria Steinem is dead

I see that faint scar on your lip 

that he put there with a fireplace tong

I cannot unsee him knocking you down 

for hitchhiking to get the laundry done

I cannot delete the moment you woke up 

being raped in the marital bed

As Luenell said of Bill Cosby, that’s like fucking a corpse

I will speak for you, my dear

since nobody seems to hear you 

I hear him berate you for 20 minutes when he thought I had hung up

I hear his son tell him not to talk to his mother that way

Who will speak for you now that Gloria Steinem is dead?

I see him raping your young niece while you commute to work everyday

I read my Malaysian student’s essay on constant rape by her brother

I hear my Burmese/Chinese student tell of being raped repeatedly by the older brother 

who now berates her for being too woke

I will speak for you, my sisters

since nobody has heard of you 

and Gloria Steinem has died

I will speak for you, my sister in Savannah

who never grew your hair after the boy cuzzin raped you 

and cut off your long braid

An apology is a keloid 

after the fact

after the act

this ain’t apology

Gloria Steinem, the pretty white girl

In aviator glasses posing as a playboy bunny

never apologized

So I will speak for you, my dears

as we stand in woundedness

more than pretty in our unprettiness

brave in our cancerous bodies

solemn in our widow black wool

standing up to our lessers

who lie taller even in coffins or wrapped in Muslim cloth

finally apologetic

but still more respected 

more mourned 

more listened to

I have to speak for those who have borne the lash

otherwise our cries will be treated as complaint 

and shouts of aggression

I have to speak for those who have suffered the most

because Gloria Steinem and every single white woman 

who defied the patriarchy were buffers

Their grace served all and served well

Being beaten, being murdered, being swindled out of money or emotion, 

being harangued, serving prison time for any of these grievous acts,

are the grimmer, graceless realities that women of color face

I will speak for you, my dears

Judy Juanita’s latest books are California Fever Dream: A Memoir (Willow) and a pro-choice look at abortion, Abortion (or Woman as Threefold Murderess). Her poetry collection Manhattan my ass, you’re in Oakland won the American Book Award in 2021. In her semi-autobiographical novel Virgin Soul, (Viking, 2013), the protagonist joins the Black Panther Party in the sixties in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her collection of short stories The High Price of Freeways won the 2021 Tartt Fiction Award (Livingston, 2022). Her latest book of poetry GAWDZILLA equates the filmic Godzilla to US imperialism, racism, and sexism. Her collection of essays DeFacto Feminism: Essays Straight Outta Oakland came out in 2016.

OSTINATO

by Kay Newhouse

Count the time from lightning flash 

And multiply by distance till the thunder

Rolls its way inside the house and rattles all the dishes on the shelves.

In case of nuclear disaster, ready.gov says that there is time

(I read) To go inside

Rinse out your hair and eyes and mouth

Take off your clothes

Like napalm child whose scream in glossy magazines

Holds still for history (I should know her name)

(This is important now)

My neighbor hides her thyroid scars in wrinkles on her neck

And tells me my old dog is fat again

And daughters should wear pink not jeans

And English is not easy (she repeats) and she grew up not in Chernobyl 

But a hundred miles away or so where wind picked up the dust 

And brought it to her through the forests

Sifting ash across her clothes and hair and face and now finding her with cancer 

These so many miles and years ago—

But it doesn’t matter (she says) остинато

You can’t see a scar that has so many wrinkles to surround it 

What’s that flower on my driveway

And I answer her with just one word

“impatiens,” I repeat to her, a little louder now

“impatiens”

Kay Newhouse’s first byline was in Physical Review Letters, and most recent in Wildfire Magazine. She lives near Washington DC, where the cherry trees flower every spring, the fireworks are overrated, and people are more likely to talk to each others’ dogs than to each other. This is about the same as everywhere, more or less.

HOW TO SETTLE A PERSONAL INJURY CASE

by Gil Hoy

Find out what they lost.
Maybe it's lost wages. Maybe
the monetary equivalent of
a permanent scar. Get
the medical bills paid. Past,
present and future. Robert
was just 18 years-old when
he stepped on a land mine
in Vietnam. Fresh
out of high school. Had always
dated the same girl.
You'll need to establish who
caused your client's misfortune.
And how they're responsible.
Maybe they ran a red light. Maybe
they forgot to turn off the stove
when heating up olive oil. What
you're looking for is money. The more
the better. How much is the loss
of a loved one worth? And an
amputated arm? Robert's
girlfriend is now married. His parents
have had to move on. They keep
his gold star pin beside their bed.

These images provided by the U.S. Army Special Operations Command show (left) Sgt. 1st Class Antonio R. Rodriguez, 28, of Las Cruces, New Mexico, and Sgt. 1st Class Javier J. Gutierrez, 28, of San Antonio, Texas, who died Feb. 8, 2020 from wounds sustained during combat operations in Nangarhar Province, Afghanistan. (US Army Special Operations Command via AP)

Gil Hoy is a semi-retired trial lawyer. Most of his cases were in the field of personal injury law.

WAR

by David M. Myles

It      is        

stored in the soul
of a people
and hungers
to be relevant
to more than the
sycophants of
golden calves


there      was

a time when we
thought it good
to strike out
in anger and fear
and the hubris
of the tears
of tragic death

It       has

scarred us as
a nation and the
wound has turned
in on itself on
ourselves and we pick
at the scab of the
the children laying dead

There       will

come a reckoning
our histories scream
our mutual doom
History is not a script
it is a cautionary tale
which doesn't end well
for the protagonists


David M. Myles is a Freelance Technophile and writer currently living in the Ohio Valley. Originally from New York City, Myles has lived all over the United States and the UK gathering experiences and fixing errant computers and networks His new e-book Folly is available on Kindle or Amazon.com.