Fall 2026 - Signal Issue - The Harvard Advocate

‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎sojubottle vase, dead

Put the horizon back on its hinges.
Provoke a fiddler crab into a porcelain-clawed
war for control of the moon. Light inches
toward lighter fluid. Resist the urge to prod
the miles of cattle fence that grow tiny red hands.
Don’t pattern the salt flats with tire tracks.
You aren’t in a position to make demands
of the desert. Look: a blue-lidded man reacts
to his own fossil walking out of his life.
Don’t look: stingrays swimming up and down
the flooded highway. A lizard midwife
with no source tale is waiting to drown
you. Cut your breaks. When you run out of air,
the desert will drive you almost anywhere.

With this body all under such sun. With this

sun as swollen as a body, I watched them

Nella toilette al piano interrato,
dove sto urinando, c’è
una mosca sul pavimento.
Ubriaca, incattivita, affamata di luce e
affamata e basta.
Potrebbe uscire
non trova la strada
non sa che deve passare l’antibagno
risalire le scale
girare l’angolo
dirigersi verso la porta automatica
o forse lo sa
e non ha voglia, o forze, per farlo.
Esco
mi lavo le mani
mi guardo le spalle e lo sterno
così sottili nell’estate che mi macina
e che non sa che io sto macinando lei.
Potrei portarla fuori, quella mosca.
Ma non lo farò.

the fact of the broom is not the brush component
‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎where it goes to swoosh mother proud
‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎gotta move it with pressure
‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎to beat crud out of cracks of‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎shitholes

I hold in my hand something green that didn’t exist before men made the atomic bomb. It’s an alien rock of sorts, not fully of this world. Mystic and destructive as its birth was, this stone was still created from the first blast. Trinitite: at one point, the government put it behind bars. At one point, anyone could grab a piece. This anthropogenic technofossil is the oldest atomic mutation, a vestige of the holy trinity, a token of the first nuclear bomb.