This poem is about menstruation—while it's something universal that happens to women, the experience can be completely different depending on where you are. I was thinking about how easily I and the people around me can manage our routines with clean water and supplies always within reach. But there are so many women who don't have that. For them, menstruation means scarcity, unsafe water, makeshift materials, and sometimes even having to flee while bleeding.
This poem reflects my bitter, grieving thoughts about losing a language. I was born and raised in California, but I spent a few childhood years in a rural town in the Philippines. There, I learned the local language (Bicol). When we returned to the States, English took over at home. As I went through elementary school, my parents began to using more English with me, until they didn't use Bicol at all (unless they were mad at me). I don't speak Bicol anymore, but I still understand some.
Last weekend, my husband and I went up to Seoul to visit the National Museum of Korea. I’ve visited this place perhaps three or four times over the decade. We came to see the special exhibition on Islamic art (koreaherald.com/article…)
The pictures are a view of the museum's exterior. A fantastic view of Seoul.
Submissions Open for Spring 2026 posts: I’m now accepting poetry and fiction submissions for Spring 2026 season. The reading period will run from now until the end of February, or until there’s enough quality content for the season.
Spring 2026 Schedule: Publication will resume the first weekend of March and run through the end of May. I’ll be posting selected work once a month, or even a few times a month, depending on the volume and quality of submissions.
A Thank-You for Subscribers:Â As a thank you for your support, all active subscribers will receive a special PDF booklet in January 2026. It will compile all the fun facts from the 2025 posts.
If you’re a writer, I hope you’ll consider submitting your work, even previously published work. If you’ve submitted before, you are more than welcome to submit again.Â
Here are the Submission Guidelines.
While there won't be any new The Ones Behind the Bookshelves posts on Substack until March, you can still find me sharing thoughts and updates occasionally on Substack Notes, BlueSky and PinkSky, and Instagram.
I turned around on the couch and watched my daughter
pull my son down the hall on his blue scooter,
and when they were out of sight, all that remained
in the landscape of my view—
like molasses under the ceiling light—
was the hardwood floor they once covered,
the scuffed wall they eclipsed bit by bit,
a scarcely-used cabinet with nothing in it,
and another wall, the one in the living room,
where we were, which they had no part of,
sprayed with the silhouette
of my wife’s spectacled head
looking down at her phone,
smothering lips
that moved like those caught
under the gray water’s poker face.
Last month in October, St. Corax was featured on The Ones Behind the Bookshelves, a little newsletter/literary journal that I run.
October 2025
Who’s behind the magazine? The Director is a stork named Konstantinos, juggling endless meetings. The Editor-in-Chief is Francis, a red bird who can’t fly but keeps the team caffeinated. The editorial squad includes a Kingfisher, a red macaw, a Canadian goose, a Java sparrow, a black bird (Crow? Raven?), an ibis, a swallow, and a hummingbird. How they manage it all with only wings and beaks is a mystery.
Today, 54 unidentified Palestinians were buried in a mass grave. Fifty-four souls were completely erased—corpses so mutilated and tortured that their names were no longer known. This is what Gaza has become. A place where even the dead are denied their dignity, and where the living—like us—are left struggling to survive in what resembles a cemetery of dreams. Every day, I look at my children and wonder how much longer they can endure. How long can I protect them from a world that has turned its back on us?
We are trying to leave Gaza. Not because we've stopped loving it, but because we want our children to live, to dream, to sleep without fear. Please, if you can, support us, share our story, and help us find a way out.
The days have passed heavily — filled with fear, destruction, and loss. We lost almost everything: our home, our memories, and even the simple feeling of safety we once had.
But despite everything, hope still lives within us. We believe we can start over — rebuild a life worthy of those who endured so much pain. 💔
The war is over, yet its echoes remain inside us. Today, we live among the ruins that were once our home, trying to rebuild not only the walls but the spirit that held us together.
We need your support to bring back a sense of normal life, to rebuild our home, and to return the smiles to our children’s faces.
We want to turn this rubble into a new beginning. To tell the world that we are still here — still dreaming, still working, still hoping.
Help us build a better future. Help us restore what the war has taken away. Help us start again with dignity and hope.
🙏 Donate now and help us rebuild our life:
My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.
đź’Ś From the bottom of our hearts, thank you to everyone who stands with us.
Every bit of support, no matter how small, means a new start for us.
You are bringing light into the darkest moments of our lives.
We will never forget your kindness and solidarity. ❤️
September 27, 2025 - In the largest pro-Palestinian protest in Germany ever, 100.000 people took to the streets in Berlin to demand an end to the genocide of the Palestinian people by Israel, and German complicity in it. [video]/[video]
