Vera West, our amazing poetry barista, has recently released her novel in verse, Plucked. A lot of hard work and dedication went into bringing it to life, and Vera was kind enough to share a brief excerpt of it with us. There’s also an interview at the end to give you some insight into what inspired Plucked‘s creation. 8 I hated the city bus; the sticky floors, the lurking men staring from faded plastic seats. It creeped me out, but it couldn’t be avoided. With my ride secured, the next complication to iron out was a parental signature on Everleigh’s admission forms. I couldn’t transfer without it. The bus stopped at the Ninth Cat, my granny’s barbershop on the corner of a rundown street in my rundown town, but its faded red paint shone like…
An Excerpt and News from Mbizo Chirasha
Editor’s Note: Mbizo Chirasha is The Fictional Café’s Poet-in-Residence. We have featured his work for two years now and are closing in on the end of his term. You may have noticed that we have featured less of his work this year, which, we are sad to say, is because Mbizo has been fleeing his home in Zimbabwe and trying to find asylum in another country. Due to his criticism of African politics and corruption in his writing, he has frequently been a target of violence from his government. We have partnered with a few organizations to help him find a safe place to live and write, but he continues to meet challenges. Mbizo has recently published a new book, which we announced earlier this year. Here is an excerpt from his book, called, “Along…
“Bleb,” A Poetry Excerpt by Sanjeev Sethi
Medic As casual as strolling on a graveled pathway in a close-by parkland, words cycle towards me on my inner track where ideas lap dance with a tumescent dash. The first draft is born. This baby needs a battery of nurses and other paraphernalia. I’m the doc on duty. Summon the accoucheur for stillborns. Memento Mori Campestral locales furnish the song and dance routine with a context. Ill-lighted rooms caution me of you. When their consciousness darkles, I am snug as a bug. Why does sadness complect my cheeriness? Is alertness a curse? Nonfiction Google and other griefs chase my working hours. Nights are cut out for graphology. In temple of needs my pelage seeks your petting. My god it seems is huffy. Fair Play The…