Davis And Edgar, Editors

A new venture from the editors of The Hat

[davisandedgareditors]

Take Care of Yourself and Get Plenty of Rest

Alli Warren

Steeped in the cooing structure unmoved in the threshold stalking that entrance stockings compelling every thing to cling to clump as is our wont

as if sympathy with one were support for the other I move among loves as aims that animate that deeming need the lack of which holds me

or anything a mouth has to utter panting on the sofa kicking up the ice lilting wilting middle where an outside used to be

Swiper don’t swipe some imp of a candle’s no light, there’s blood in the silt I forage & fold & go all frond clinging as much in cause as consequence in the crowded den of your heart’s stadium

when I said I was going to the bar I meant no death no death free the big fish holed up in pens brave the fat beneath the crumbling order of our love

all day nothing but rice I gather reams and kettle the coho I lurch where I should listen Only the mercury is true

Alli Warren’s collection, Here Come the Warm Jets, was published by City Lights in 2013.

Ladowich Magazine is available in the Apple Newsstand — https://t.co/bhbBwDr0F9  — offering just enough poetry and one longread a month. The poem published here appears in the August issue, appearing Thursday, August 27.

[davisandedgareditors]

grown youth

Buck Downs

the real kids aren’t doing hardcore bands anymore —

a little too music‐ in‐the‐schools, truth be told —

starting your own business is what they do these days — business plans, product plans, P&Ls —

working for social change one quarter at a time —

build a house raise a kid retire rich at 40 — that’s hardcore.

Buck Downs’s most recent collection of poems is Tachycardia (Edge).

Ladowich Magazine is available in the Apple Newsstand — https://t.co/bhbBwDr0F9 — offering just enough poetry and one longread a month. The poem published here appears in the May issue.

[davisandedgareditors]

From “Colored People’s Time,” an essay by Gregory Pardlo

My wife Ginger and I bought our brownstone in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood in 2005. The day we closed, our real estate agent took us to dinner at a Korean restaurant in Queens. She said she’d neglected to get us the traditional Korean housewarming gifts of toilet paper and laundry soap, but urged us to ask the spirits of the house for their blessing before we settled in. The house is more than a century old. If we’d had any question, if we hoped to seduce ourselves into denial, our new neighbors were not shy about lading us with the lore like gift baskets of fruit and wine: People have died in our house.

Everyone remembers Ms. Bailey, for example, whose parents bought the house sometime in the 1930s. Ms. Bailey was felled by a heart attack while tending the little front garden. Our current neighbor’s late father kept the house as an income property before it sat vacant for some time in the crack-addled 80’s. Who knows how many walking dead back then claimed space beneath the roof that is now ours. Kim, the medical doctor who rescued the house, developed complications from a bug bite and succumbed after returning home from one of her many safaris. The house sat vacant for a year or so until we bought it in an estate sale. This death business was new for me. All these stories of “before we lived here” made me think about what would be told “after we’re gone.”

Full essay goes live in the August issue going live in the App Store tomorrow… subscribe today and get it first.

[davisandedgareditors]

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