PREE 15 is here!

PREE 15 is a bumper issue with twice, if not thrice, as many submissions as we usually recieve. This is probably due to the offer of monetary prizes for the three most outstanding entries. This issue was also open to writers from the global South and several authors from other countries submitted work. We will note those shortlisted as we upload their work and announce the winners on August 31st! Enjoy PREE 15 themed Precarity, Fragility, Vulnerability. We are excited by the quality of the submissions we received. As usual we will be adding to the issue each week until the full issue is up. Enjoy and let us have your feedback!

Brackish

I would have loved other names, but my parents chose to name me Kael; Kael Prospere in full. I am writing this from a shipping container in Rotterdam, six thousand miles from the place I was born. The container has been converted into housing. They call it “transitional accommodation.”

Village League

Sometimes when you meet up people from back in the day, it doesn’t have nothing you could talk to them about. People who gone and they whole life change so much, they doesn’t really have nothing in common with you again but the old days. And plenty people don’t like to talk about back in the day. I could understand that.

Voyage in Three Parts

This was when my mother’s hair hung low
Almost at her feet
Like a jet black train that announced her return
This was when my father cleaned out the closet
Tall mahogany doors
And found a poem written to her by a man we did not know

The Education of Marlene Joseph

A typical day is the twenty-minute walk to school because the money she saves on transport is money she can put toward the chalk she buys herself because the ministry allocation ran out in October. A typical day is thirty-eight children in a room built for twenty-five, and the heat, and Widline in the front row who is ten and reads at a level that would embarrass children in Lyon, who reads with her whole body tilted toward the page as if leaning into a wind.

The Fisherman

A news bulletin plays on the TV. Another action by the big navy that has been patrolling the waters of the Caribbean. Grainy black-and-white images, a boat in the water, crosshairs superimposed, a flash that suddenly lights up the screen.

Peace

Finally, you will see how
succulence is costly, my Chiquita,
when you are dished out, a poor man’s pudding,
innocent of batter, of cream, of a platter.

Piece of Sea

As the nighttime sighed, Mr. and Mrs. Caridad drifted into the same dream.
They lay face down on the ocean, floating along its silky surface, naked, and draped in moonlight’s velvety glow. The water was red, and it was white, and it was blue, all at the same time. Schools of silver-scaled fish, sparkling like jewels, swam eagerly into the open hands of the couple. Each fish multiplied, over and over, until the red-white-blue ocean was nothing but silver flesh and scale.

ON AI, LITERATURE AND THE MYTH OF HUMAN EXCEPTIONALISM

If we are thinkers, if we are writers, if we are people who claim to care about language and public life, then our task is not to guard a shrinking shrine of purity. Our task is to shape conditions under which language remains accountable, human dignity remains non-negotiable, labor remains visible, power remains contestable, and beauty remains possible.

PREE 15 Update!

For all those who submitted work to be considered for PREE 15 we ask for your patience. We...

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