The Boy. The Black Man.

What I do remember is the lingering knowledge and horror that my Boyness, my masculinity couldn't protect me.

No Funeral

You mourn the girl I was / as if I killed her, / as if I left her / in a field somewhere, / shipwrecked in the dry grass –

The Offing: Happy Birthday!

In celebration of the generous support we have received from family, friends, writers, artists, and readers, we look back at some of our favorite pieces from the year.

Falling Days

If upward progress is a romantic idea we try to build our lives around, then so too are falling, celerity, this wild and fickle freedom.

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Third Wave

When my mother sat at our table for late hours of statistics homework, / biting the corners of her lips, / I felt prophecy swell without translation

How I Got To Social By Nature

Society was being taken over by a new paradigm, that of sociogenomics, the belief that everything we want to know about ourselves is part social and part genetic.

The Women’s Choir

The women’s choir is not for people like you. We’d heard this before. So we marched, as we have done two times before, out of the church with a mixture of accomplishment and dread.

For my Brother

heads touched, our
dreams were related
by blood.

quantum distributions for Sarah Baartman

why must they demand black bodies self-sacrifice in ultraviolet? that is, why must we give all of us to them until we have nothing left?