Here, the fog horns seem to multiply,/clocks and bells grieve louder./Strange how I never noticed them before.
I would say that that’s one of the mysteries of art. That sense of being seen. It’s one thing to notice something else, it’s another thing for the speaker to be noticed.
I got them first to navigate the waters/ of pregnancy, so I could ride the subway/ without gorge rising, without feeling faint.
These films offer artifacts of our American film heritage, inventing a coziness and togetherness of Christmas with a dash of entertainment that is apparently only available to and enjoyed by white people.
Tariq’s Heed the Hollow is a humorous, erotic, and stunningly heartbreaking engagement with a language that has forcefully made queer black bodies and voices invisible.