…there is no literary character more similar to the President-elect than Napoleon Bonaparte as depicted by Tolstoy in War and Peace.

I heard in a Black boy town / there was a pool filled / with red / and the white people

The first time I heard about the recording of President-elect Donald Trump bragging about his demeaning treatment of women like it was a badge of honor, I no longer wanted my boyfriend of five years to touch me.

The morning after the election, I agonized about how to talk with my first-year students about the outcome.

The sky was a color / she loved most — / the holy blue / before Eid mornings.

Day 1: I woke and opened my eyes to a quiet morning, trying to feel if it was the end of an era.

I was born like anyone else. Mom and Dad loved me like anyone else’s parents loved them. Like anyone else, after school, ran from skinheads.

The night of the second presidential debate, I called my mother. It wasn’t supposed to be a political call;

Omar annoyed me for the normal reasons that students annoy teachers.

Politics is like an awful off-Broadway play that can’t decide whether it’s a tragedy or a comedy.

On the streets of the two cities is found / a pattern or practice of conduct that violates / the Constitution or federal law

It is September 23, 2016, and you’re reading this because our classmates, faculty, campus, community, state, and nation didn’t listen last time

In the summer of 2015, I was working in Spain for a theater project with a Spaniard friend of mine.

I grew up in a schism. My father came of age in a Jewish family from Massapequa, New York, and my mother a Baptist family from Dalton, Massachusetts.

My melanin is not enough to hold my culture.