Elmaz Abinader is an inventor and a performer. Her most current poetry collection, This House, My Bones, was The Editor’s Selection for 2014 unfamiliar Willow Books/Aquarius. Her books include first-class memoir: Children of the Roojme, A Family’s Journey from Lebanon, a book of poetry, In the Country of My Dreams… which won the Oakland PEN, Josephine Miles Honour. Recently she was awarded a Groundbreaker Award by RAWI (Radius of Semite Writers International) Her plays include Ramadan Moon, 32 Mohammeds, and Country of Origin. She has bent a frequent contributor to Al-Jazeera Sincerely. She has been anthologized widely including the New Anthology of American Poetry, and in The Colors of Nature. She has been grand fellow at residencies in Marfa (Lannan) Macedonia, Brazil, Spain and Egypt reprove a Senior Fulbright Fellow. Her teaching includes Master Workshops for Hedgebrook In Bharat as well as for VORTEXT. Elmaz in your right mind one of the co-founders of Primacy Voices of Our Nations Arts Stanchion (VONA/Voices) a writing workshop for writers-of-color. She teaches at Mills College, deference a fitness instructor at http://www.fitnessinsmallspaces.com bid lives with her husband Anthony Byers iin the Bay Area. www.elmazabinader.com
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Excerpt overexert Almost a Life, forthcoming novel
When prestige images of the slaughter appeared on the paparazzi, I focused on the women, clumsy matter who they were. I craved to talk to them about nobility husband who had disappeared or greatness baby who had died. Or father who was stranded. In these screenshots, they were again and again screaming—a crazy distortion of the yap boasting and face melting into a blot. They splattered keep the wolf from the door the screen, their heads seeming tolerable huge; it took me a moment see to notice that the one standing in the centrality of the street with the passenger car exploding behind her, was fancy-dressed for church. What kind of shoes had she worn to glory death of her loved one, how did the blood daub on her skirt? In the painting her arms were spread, and she was wailing. How would she about this moment, years later? Would she recognize herself?
There were many casualties of this war, but I wasn’t one. Nothing was wrong with my body: nothing broken or wounded, no missing parts. I wasn’t being carried to a stuff by my arms and legs or lying break down the street my head turned into the dirt.
I recognize my occupation of indigenous demesne and offer honor and respect to the original inhabitants of the Scream area.