She washed the life-gunk from my curls, then washed again, air-dried it, combed it out. With a comb tip, she divided the hair into four squares that looked like quilt-blocks.
Founded in 1977 at Columbia University's School of the Arts
She washed the life-gunk from my curls, then washed again, air-dried it, combed it out. With a comb tip, she divided the hair into four squares that looked like quilt-blocks.
The owner’s objectives were tactical, felt like a rush of blood at the sight of wounded game. There was an infection in the neighborhood that needed to be eradicated.
Listen to the little ding. Watch the tiny light flash and the doors close. There is a large man rushing downstairs and an especially fat rat scuttling alongside him.
Columbia Journal is excited to announce the winners and finalists of our inaugural Black History Month Special Issue, in fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and art. We want to thank everyone who submitted for creating art and sharing their work with us,…
“The vanishing trail led to a tangle of chicories — / to the scythes still swinging over the bloodied / beer cans, whiskey bottles, oak tree stump”
“I don’t know how to tell you I’m fearful / of a world that ends in us still // unfree”
“Two shifting veils, two faces: double consciousness”
Withdrawn is an intimate exploration of my soul relationship with this grandfather I never knew. It is the story of race, injustice and the anguish of slavery’s legacy. For the first time in my life, I journeyed down South to…
At the Columbia Journal, we believe in creating space for and celebrating traditionally underrepresented voices. While we pursue this aim year round, this February marks our first ever Black History Month special issue. Our website will feature writing and creative…
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