Jerry Seguin is a freelance artist and designer residing in Emeryville, CA. His work stems from a formal training in apparel and textile design as well as photography.
Dirt
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Issue 20
Latest Reviews
Featured Interview
Newest Essay
Excerpt from Wait for Me in Heaven, Captain
Jorge Enrique Botero
Translated by David Feller Pegg
We have been under attack for over an hour and I have yet to fire a single shot. It’s almost dawn and old Gala will soon notice the R-15 fluttering in my hands.
Planetarium
Amy Forstadt
The day before Christmas I take my son/ to the planetarium. “It’ll be fun,” I say./ Really, I want to escape/ my new in-laws, their holiday
Knowing Me, Knowing You
Mike Dressel
It was the summer I was into armpits.
It was the week the mercury didn’t dip below 98 degrees.
It was the weekend we didn’t get back together.
Life and Lemons
Christopher Clubb
The first time I begged for money on the street was while I was in Italy. I had been living in England, studying abroad at Lancaster University.
Last Will and Testament
Bijan Najdi
Translated by Parisa Saranj
Half the rocks, cliffs and the mountains/ with their canyons and cups of milk/ I leave to my son. For the other half, / make a donation to a charity/ in the name of rain.
A Glass Jar of Hours From the Other Side of the Universe
Karen An-hwei Lee
Today, I wake up on the wrong side of the universe and realize, with a shock of recognition, my dear heavenly stars, I’m an octopus.
triptych
Carl-Christian Elze
Translated by Caroline Wilcox Reul
pull the key from/
the switch just/
after ignition/
the key to your/
mind and travel on without/
Kiki’s Place
Keith Carver
Mehmet first saw tits at Kiki Damron’s trailer, in Gobles, deep into summer vacation, between grades five and six. They were hers to show, and nothing seemed wrong with it.
She, Who Swims in Sewers
Jessica Love
When Lana dove into the deep end of the country club pool, she was completely submerged only for a brief moment, before her pink, plastic floaties tugged her upward by her biceps to the surface.
São Luís, 1611
Talal Alyan
in us always the monorail circling a dark skyline,/an old synth/ rings in rings in rings aloud more/
siren than song in each and in us all the quiet/hours too/ letting the elevator lift us with strangers/ to apartments we will never share.
Bad Weather Over O’Hare
Talal Alyan
the miracle is there are/ none. sixty feet and rising/ over a Dakota that has/ gone to bed, she likes to tell/ herself the miracle is
Elevator Down
J. Weintraub
They were alone in the elevator, and then he was gone, and she hardly realized what had happened to her as she slid to the floor, her back against the wall, and when it reached the top and shuddered to a halt, she fell forward among the broken bags of groceries.
Excerpt from Elegy for the Chinese of California
Alvin Lu
At some point it was decided there should be a hall. The idea started as a public square.
Triptych
Luisa Valenzuela
Translated by Marguerite Feitlowitz
The hotel in Marseilles has a Moroccan motif. An interesting and creative way to renovate a big old house with two rooms on every floor and a steep staircase. Luckily a young man carried my suitcase up the steep stairs.