Elegy is the séance we hold as we pray for a visitation from the ones we have lost. We invite them to haunt us. We sing to them, and listen for song in return.
Read MoreI was praying the only way I knew how. I was trying to build a boat, to take me through the waves of grief on your street, right up to your door.
Read MoreIn this issue we look back on the years stolen or borrowed, hold our grief open & stand very still in the strain of song that washes from its depths.
Read MoreThis collection was born out of the search for something bigger than the silence & static. On Friday, I think we came close to finding it.
Read MoreI am at a point in my life where the question most on my mind isn’t what am I asking from a place, but rather what I owe a place I have made a home.
Read MoreBy 2020, Waiting for Frank Ocean in Cairo had become a kind of phantom; a project that haunted me, yet whose future seemed illusive.
Read MoreTake off your headphones, put down your hauntings, & come inside out of the heat. We’ve been waiting for so long.
Read MoreWelcome to elegy: the last dropped petal—the mirror in mourning—the light still on for what once was beautiful.
Read MoreI am slow to reach for music these days, maybe because music doesn’t feel out of reach anymore.
Read MoreWhen a poem reaches its most potent limits, I consider it reaching into the state of song.
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