by Reagan Jackson
Alex Gallo-Brown is a writer and labor organizer who grew up in Ravenna, but went to school in the Central District. He graduated from Garfield High School and went on to get a bachelor of fine arts in Creative Writing from the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn and a master of arts in English from Georgia State University in Atlanta.
Continue reading Writer and Organizer Alex Gallo-Brown Grief, Healing, and Masculinity
by Leija Farr
“Put your lips where my body creases”
Do not expect fruit where a bloodline
no longer lives.
Continue reading South End Stew: For The Boys Looking For Sugar
Music is my Albatross,
Pulling on my neck, dragging down my soul.
Through the orange yellows of Dante’s inferno.
To the steel blue fires, the true gates of hell.
Continue reading South End Stew: Samuel Taylor’s Cool Ranch Stanzas
by Kelsey Hamlin
When it was all over and I said,
“I realized college doesn’t usually happen for people like me,”
Your face tensed
and you asked what I meant.
Continue reading South End Stew: So I Lied
by K.D. Senior
Dreams don’t come true,
that’s what they are for…
But why not take a gamble,
even if we aren’t sure?
Hopeless hopes, and chances with traps,
Joining lips as sky turns to twilight,
down by the shore.
Continue reading South End Stew: Twilight
by Marcus Harrison Green
The might of hellos in dirty laboratories
Majestic words unlocked by reluctant caffeine highs
Assembling puzzle pieces of a dream
A disbelief in rising stars
Feathers sheared to mimic Michelangelo
An unkissed face lit by the sun’s mercy
Songs belted with a whole heart
Trails sought by two and found by one
A mother’s anguish for a child’s touch
The silence of untold truths unmistakable from lies
Honesty turned in too late to be given full credit
Cowardice of the heart, and tardy defenselessness
Too many untrusted tomorrows
The cleansing flame of goodbye
Continue reading South End Stew: Recall
This is the third in a series of three pieces. The first can be read here. The second can be read here.
by Kelsey Hamlin
But, god damn it, as if we don’t uproot those mother fuckers right back.
I don’t know if the seeds will ever stop whispering. I don’t know if there will ever be a time when the whispers constantly fall on deaf ears to the point where there’s no whispers at all. I don’t know if they’ll ever stop growing.
Continue reading South End Stew: Beauty Among Us