Contributors

C. D. Wright

Contributor History

From Just Whistle, Conjunctions:17
From Secrets, Conjunctions:23
Frank Stanford, Of the Mulberry Family: An Arkansas Epilogue, Conjunctions:29
Retablos, Conjunctions:32
From One Big Self, Conjunctions:35
From One Big Self: Prisoners of Louisiana, Conjunctions:37
Rewatching The Passenger, Conjunctions:42
Two Poems, Conjunctions:47
Like Something Christenberry Pictured, Conjunctions:49
Some Old Words Were Spoken, Conjunctions:51
From Breathtaken, Conjunctions:55

Biography

C. D. Wright (1949–2016) is the author of One With Others (Copper Canyon). “Breathtaken” was composed for Deborah Luster's exhibition Tooth for an Eye: A Chorography of Violence in Orleans Parish.

Connect

In Print

Conjunctions:78

Fear Itself

Spring 2022
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

Selections from On a Terrace in Tangier

by Frederic Tuten

May 18, 2022

Still Life With Flying Sombreros

Three sombreros hung on pegs in a cantina, where their owners stood at a bar, soaking in the tequila. The sombreros got to talking and soon discovered they all despised their owners. “My man,” a sombrero said, “came home drunk every night and beat his wife and children with a hard stick he kept just for that purpose.” Another sombrero confessed that his owner sat on a porch and shot cats that had strayed into his garden. He skinned the cats and displayed their pelts over the fireplace.

Like a Disease Whose Threshold No One Can Cross, She Says
—Translated from Spanish by Forrest Gander

by Coral Bracho

May 11, 2022

1.

Someone nodding, and the light pressing down
as though it had weight.
And right in the middle of what I want to say
there’s a long row of chairs. There are green,
red, yellow arches that gradually contract
and close, like doors.
Like a disease whose threshold no one can cross,
she says.

House of Rashomon

by Kristine Ong Muslim

May 4, 2022

Once upon a time, there was only Olga and me, as well as our old dog, Boji, in a big house we inherited from our parents, whose food we had slowly been poisoning in a span of at least a year. Our parents blamed their “chronic illness” on inclement weather, on the “heathens” who played rock music next door, sometimes on “cursed” and “possessed” appliances and furniture.