The priest talks of gardens but doesn’t grow fruit. Oh, the mess song birds make. Someday they will go to seed, sprout, and shoot. A white lab mouse released into the woods doesn’t have the sense to run. Instinct… [Read More]
Witness Magazine
Northern Lights by Christina Leo
At the tilted pole of a distant planet on the date of the summer solstice, the eyes of a young astronomer reflect the faint glow of a radio-sized machine which measures the countdown to sunrise. This far north, it will be the only daybreak of the year. Four minutes of morning. Wilted logbooks lie beside… [Read More]
Unscented by Andi Brown
When I return home at night, I’m careful not to kiss my wife. It’s by mutual agreement. It was a routine we had before COVID, when all we had to worry about was MRSA, C-diff, and any human fluids that might get on my scrubs. In lieu of kisses, I strip my clothes off in… [Read More]
The Guards Who Guard the Grief Inside—Essays and Poems on the Razor Wire Poetry Workshop by Shaun T. Griffin
For the past thirty years I have taught poetry at Northern Nevada Correctional Center. More than 150 men have participated and almost all of them have stayed out of prison. Some have completed degrees, many have married, have steady jobs, and very few keep writing. Poetry is a way to reclaim themselves, or as one… [Read More]
A Note from the Editor: Community Outreach
At Witness Magazine, we often hear from writers from all over the world, but we can fulfill our mission, as stated, to amplify extraordinary voices, and highlight pieces that speak to the present moment in an enduring and distinctive way by engaging with our local community. To that end, we worked with Shaun Griffin, a poet… [Read More]
Community Voices
All My Niggas Was White; Notes from the Color Line by Sean Enfield
“The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line.” —W.E.B. DuBois Tamir Rice was shot twice within seconds of two cleveland police officers arriving on the scene. He was 12 years old, brandishing an airsoft gun, and guilty of playing while black. He died the following day from the… [Read More]
Blue Faced Honeyeater by Aiden Baker
Over the years, my wife developed peculiar habits. The strangest, my favorite, is the way she will, on occasion, scrunch up her face and give birth to fruit. The first time she did it we were at the zoo. We’d spent the day wandering along the gravel paths, pointing at elephants and tigers and spitting… [Read More]
Nor Any Know I Know The Art & ’Tis News As Null As Nothing by Edward Mayes
“NOR ANY KNOW I KNOW THE ART” The question is how can you get the temporary To last longer, finger food, ur-language scrawled On an original wall, everyone read it, everyone Jumped into the first fire, those who have Forgotten how to say the rosary in the rose Garden, or in the orto where the… [Read More]
The Scooter-Rickshaw Driver by Bipin Aurora
I wanted to go home to Sarita Vihar and I walked up to the scooter-rickshaw on the side of the road. I asked the driver to take me there. “No,” he said. “No?” I said. “I am not going in that direction. I am going Jumna-paar (across the Jumna River).” “I will give you five… [Read More]
Orbit by Nancy Chen Long
Clack, clack, clack goes the ace-of- hearts clothes-pinned to the back tire. Round and round and round the black wheels spin. A desert wind blows my black hair back. From the handlebars, canary-yellow tassels flutter. “Fly, Nan, fly,” my father, jogging beside me, laughs as he pushes the bike, sending me off on my own…. [Read More]
The Golden Telescope by Jose Hernandez Diaz
I found a 19th century golden telescope in the attic of an old house I bought to fix up. The house was located downtown, by the lake. The golden telescope was covered in an old cardboard box with spider webs. Written on the box was the phrase, “The Stars Are Only the Beginning of Our… [Read More]
