Alison Luterman
Alison Luterman is busy practicing descending minor thirds, going to qigong, and teaching creative-writing classes. She lives in Oakland, California, where there’s a taco truck at the foot of her street.
Krome
“Krome was set up on an abandoned missile base in the middle of a swamp. It’s big enough to hold about a thousand people, but they’ve got to have twice that many there now. All kinds of human rights violations. Not enough toilets, not enough water. These people haven’t done anything, but they’re being treated worse than convicted criminals. They even put hormones in the food to keep the men from rioting. It’s a concentration camp. You’ll see,” he promises me.
February 1994Your Own People
I look at her, the words to hit and cut and run burning in my throat. She knows I could use them, too. It’s from her I got this mouth that can soothe and slice in alternate breaths.
December 1993Letter To Maxim
The story of you is starting in me again. When I think of you, I see a road, a long gray stretch of lonely two-lane highway, a yellow stripe painted down its middle, a road in the middle of nowhere.
August 1993The Night Crawlers
Something that seems made of earth itself, but alive like us / — but can’t be, wouldn’t be / thought of in the same sentence, purely a wriggling verb / not subject, dangling modifier / to what is left unsaid.
July 1993
Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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