Upcoming Issue
To be mindful of the planet we call home is to be aware that our natural world is suffering. Its oceans are rising up, as if in protest. Its populations of birds and fish, of mammals and reptiles, are, many of them, in steep and steady decline. Droughts and wildfires counterpoint, in increasing intensity, hurricanes, flooding, and landslides. Glaciers and polar caps are dissolving before our eyes. Forests, coral reefs, habitats of every sort of life form, from tree frogs to butterfly fish, from elephants to bees, are profoundly afflicted. It is hardly an extremist point of view to see that our planet and all of its denizens—not just humans, who represent a small percentage of living beings, but all flora and fauna—are in mortal jeopardy.

Once, a poet of a different generation wrote, “Progress is a comfortable disease . . . A world of made / is not a world of born—pity poor flesh / and trees, poor stars and stones,” and went on to propose, darkly and no doubt wryly, “listen: there’s a hell / of a good universe next door; let’s go.” And yet, as e. e. cummings well knew, we really don’t have that option, notwithstanding a future colony on Mars.

This special issue of Conjunctions, Earth Elegies, gathers writings that examine and lament the plight of our planet, while also celebrating its grand sublimity, its peerless beauty, its interconnected intricacies, and, quite simply, its indispensability. Some of our most innovative writers, both emerging and established, will contribute essays, fiction, poetry, memoirs, and other work engaging this essential subject, among them Diane Ackerman, Robert Macfarlane, Eliot Weinberger, Fred Moten, Paul Lisicky, Vint Virga, Rae Armantrout, and many others.

Between now and August 1st, please mail your provocative, innovative, risk-taking fiction, poetry, and narrative nonfiction to our editorial office:

Bradford Morrow, Editor
21 East 10th Street, 3E
New York, NY 10003

Please do not send your work to us via email, unless you are currently outside the US.

Click here for other important guidelines. We look forward to reading your work!



In Print

Vol. 71
A Cabinet of Curiosity
Fall 2018
Edited by Bradford Morrow


Reproducing the Unknowable
April 23, 2019
Our wombs are for many of us unknowable until inhabited, made knowable by the inside taps at the doors and walls of our bodies, our centers of gravity shifted, our balance of weight and even of power redistributed, disturbed, sleep-deprived, and pushed up against furniture we used to slide easily by.
A Selected Text from Conjunctions:72, Nocturnals
April 18, 2019
The first time I crossed the equator, I stopped for a photo. People usually do. I had come to work in a small clinic in a coffee-farming village in southwestern Uganda, just to the south of the world’s belt. I grew up in the midlatitudes: long summer days and long winter nights, the swing of light and dark like a rocking hammock. I thought of the equator as a human idea—a line on a spinning globe. Its tyranny was a shock.
April 16, 2019
In the first dream, the dog is disguised as a cat.

In the second dream, when I pet him, the dog turns into chocolate.

In the third dream, the dog is a ball of dirty yarn which I scoop up
and lay over my chest to muffle the sound of my rapidly beating heart.