he was my religion where no god could exist laid slain in his spirit each time his hands pray upon me words baptized in tongues tithed offered in remembrance of we
Read moreMY MOTHER by KATHLEEN RADIGAN
Met my father in summer at some wedding. She won’t say if they kissed or felt clairvoyant twinges during Vows.
Read moreHOW IT FEELS TO BE A GAY BOY by ERIC CLINE
insert a metaphor about paper cranes, their wings open wide as their creases can go before ripping and pulp beaks breach the earth.
Read moreLETTER TO MARYAM by MILLIE GUILLE
I was staring at a map when the men came, measuring the width of Calcutta with a thumb as they told me to stand and led me away. The blindfold smelt of cardamom and I remembered my mother’s shoe-size and the warmth of her body […]
Read moreBORROWERS by KATHLEEN RADIGAN
Since my mother lives inside me, I bake a lemon cake and frost it with a blunt knife. In weeks of frizz and fat rattles I knew her as my Other. We’re two people, she said. Start hardening. In autumn she taught me to use a shower. Hot bullets over her breasts. Our bathing suits […]
Read moreDISSOCIATION AS TIME TRAVEL by FISAYO ADEYEYE
Rolling coins & cat eye marbles An excess of gold Do not be afraid: of how the body lingers after light, how your teeth ache in the cold The soft burn of your muscles pulling away from one another The deck loses suspension & our knuckles their suspense The tissue paper. Your pupil’s blood- orange […]
Read moreFROM THE TREE by MJ SANTIAGO
When will I be rich enough to visit Mexico again? Maybe I should have stayed poor so I wouldn’t have to hear about your trip to India between your second and third years of college and how good the mangoes were I would rather claw my own ear drums out than hear you say I […]
Read moreHOMEWARD by MJ SANTIAGO
The cat disappeared for two weeks and came back with one less ear: I was the cat. When someone bumps into me on the subway I want to yell, I came from the swamp, and emerged cleanly, ready with an extra row of teeth.
Read moreBIRTHRIGHTS by KYRA WOLFF
In Minnesota during the silver season she married a frozen swimming pool masquerading as a Great Lake.
Read morePRETAS by HALEY CLAPP
Years and years and you– my shrivel-handed, my ever-praying buddha monk, seek samma ditthi, tasked with pulling splinters from a mother’s memories.
Read moreMY KENTUCKY/SNAKE SEARCHER by CM KEEHL
I was all need you were out dog licking wound & ok/ so I’m destroyer all pressure pace move right through mouth & more do you swoon over Camus or coke & cum turn home melted ponder under slither fingers fighting fodder what kind of blood am I to you with war zipping hard underneath
Read moreBLOOM by KRISTIN CHANG
I touch myself like a wound & my skin spits up its color like blood. It’s beautiful to feel darkness unattended in the body. To love the backs of our hands, to forget what will end us. I bruise the underside of my tongue
Read moreATROPA BELLADONNA by SYDNEY MCNEILL
black leather boots kick fine soil down from a cliff-side perch – disperses into an ill-coloured cloud, the way my brain feels.
Read moreNOW GO AND LOVE SOME MORE by COCO WILDER
They tasted open to me. Her fingers tasted open as chopped lemons; me squeezing the juice into the cuts until she says stop, it’s okay. Fill me with you instead. And I say, awesome, I’m glad you’ve agreed. Time for me. Then all the smoke blows: I every destination of direction.
Read moreIN THE DEAD OF SPRING by KRISTIN CHANG
A white boy holds his hand like a gun. The earth bleeds out its rivers, I fist a flower. Don’t let them say genesis. Don’t let them say born again. Show me a hunger that names itself and I’ll show you my mouth,
Read moreSLIGHTLY AHEAD OF ITS TIME by SARA ADAMS
FINAL SPRING by SARA ADAMS
ANXIOUS DIVA by HANNAH KUCHARZAK
Anxious Diva puts me up for ransom. I ask her why I can’t feel my body. She just wanted to smell the cake up close. Who can blame her? Herself orbitless, disappeared? Dress sagging below the knees. Miss Charity wearing a ski mask, no panties.
Read moreFALSE TEETH by VANESSA WILLOUGHBY
Even if I run out of water I can still waste light years plotting our ruin with pruning shears. We being beings who shed our skin daily Sometimes during the violet hour to dine On paint thinner and praise temporary faces.
Read moreTWENTY-FIRST by AMY LAUREN JONES
On the picnic blanket under the oak tree my father turned to me and said: “We hope you always come back here,” where the shade eases the Southern sun on our pale skin, where we sit in favor, and I felt this birthday’s finite weight: the ratio of lie to light, and the brevity of […]
Read moreREQUIEM FOR THE MASSES BY RISHIKA AGGARWAL
hair spilling / like crowfeathered blood / razor hums wiping away / ink-scared wrists and mama says / no more girl / no more woman i wake, and she is hanging by the ceiling fan / again. bloodless girl ripping/rippling apart / like still water breaking.
Read moreMALNOURISHED by JACKIE BRAJE
He says things the way spilled milk does, calcium cutting and bone dry, so I cry about it. We stand outside a Mexican diner and an Open sign’s screaming red and blue all over his face as he tells me he needs something more. My
Read moreREMEMBER THE FUN WE HAD WHEN YOU POISONED ME by EMILY O’NEILL
today my coworker Brian touches me without my permission & I imagine rending his head from his body with my bare hands / I can blame the impulse on a customer / Joe always asks what scary thing I’ve done to myself today / I always answer in movie titles // in The Exorcism of […]
Read moreI WILL DIE CHAINED TO AN ESPRESSO MACHINE by EMILY O’NEILL
I’m lying in bed playing dead lizard because it’s all dry where rain should happen & cinder where we didn’t put ourselves out. That’s the legacy. We forgot to inconvenience ourselves. Don’t know
Read moreWARP by RACHANA HEGDE
Teacher asks me to speak, asks me to sigh, asks me to be dramatic & shy (please?). Nobody ever says please. In my mind a crane is shifting and juddering to a halt. I’m the girl sprawled breathless, drawing myself nude.
Read moreEXORCISM by RACHANA HEGDE
Mama binds my wounds slipshod, drippy-wet, I watch crow overbalancing, crow flailing, crow falling off the wires. In the dining room, Papa rubs at the sangria stains. The guests calcify under my gaze & I trip, dissonant
Read moreSOFABED by CAITLIN BAIRD
HAMPTON STREET, 12:00 AM (FIGURE IN A MIRROR IN TWO PARTS) by LAUREN ELMA FRAMENT
after Jeremy Radin the unfading birthmark / the right breast, tender cicatrice & ache / the organs who refuse motherhood / the knees, swollen like heavy balloons / the hips, purposeless gates / the thighs, two fumbling giants / the hands, deserts without oasis or mirage / the crescented knuckle that sewed itself / the […]
Read moreSOUTH WILLOW STREET, 7:11PM (BODY) by LAUREN ELMA FRAMENT
i didn’t know my stomach would become a wallet for my fingers to pickpocket
Read moreHAMPTON STREET, 5:21 PM (SELF-PORTRAIT AS SCIENCE FAIR PROJECT) by LAUREN ELMA FRAMENT
i built a glass box with a tornado inside.
Read moreHORIZON by JAYY DODD
You will find roads familiar and vacant, daylight obscured by furrowing sky, some congested covering will billow from an apocalyptic breeze. Roadside civilizations will trace piecemeal monuments to all you knew as home. You’ll be passenger to your flesh, and it will guide you, traverse
Read moreA WAKE by CASEY CLAGUE
Baby duck imprints a mother on the first thing he sees, would stream through a lake with a goose, bear, human single dad. Glazed-eye after- noon, red tide. Last seen
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WHEN I FIRST WENT INTO THE OCEAN I | Jasmine Sierra
felt like a magic woman, magic mouth of the Pacific calling to me ’til she could kiss me on my feet. Asked me how I gone so long without lettin’ these feet come to cozy up with the swelling of the shoreline and I said too long ’cause I almost
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ART | Vanya Truong
INTERVIEW WITH THE ARTIST LUCIA PASQUALE: What are you currently reading? VANYA TRUONG: I am currently reading House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. It’s very strange and slightly haunting. I’m also re-reading Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre because I was feeling odd about myself again. Both books are very emotionally overpowering for me, so I […]
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VENUS FADING FROM THE SKY | N. L. Shompole
1 I take flight at dusk, pink and indigo sky stretching each way into infinity. Blue wind over my skin I think of how the world came to be. In a dream last night I was a hummingbird in migration. A sudden storm and I was in descent, torn from the sky.
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THE ANATOMY OF A PIXIE GIRL DROWNING | Martina Dominique Dansereau
You have always loved the anatomy of a pixie girl drowning; from my salt- covered lips to the weeds in my lungs, you worshipped me as a false god. When we first met, the water was only just beginning to lap at the shores of my heart. I was thirteen; my eyes were still lit […]
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GIRL, INTERRUPTED | Martina Dominique Dansereau
Girl with mouth of river bled dry. Girl whose first blood comes from choking back words too big for her mouth. Girl with tightrope wrists and knife handles in her thighs. Girl like a wrecked car, rusted iron smile. Girl who swallows a sparrow heart and spits out the feathers. Girl and her razor-rimmed eyes. […]
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OPEN SEASON | Torii Johnson
People in the south have mouths that cradle their vowels like a hunter holds his gun. Don’t kiss in the car in case we get run off the road. Speak slow ‘round the molasses of their thoughts and savor the sound.
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MEMORIES OF LOVING A GIRL WHO SANG THE SOUL ELECTRIC | Martina Dominique Dansereau
i. Her eyes caused earthquakes, tectonic plates colliding and sparks leaping from her gaze into mine when they crashed, inciting tremors beneath my skin. The way my synapses fired love letters from neuron to neuron to every part of my body until it tingled with love like a fever coursing hot- and-cold from her sly […]
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A Stonefruit | Clair Dunlap
TWO YEARS LATER I TELL HIM VERY CLEARLY TO STOP TALKING TO ME. I USE THE CONCISE PHRASES I DO NOT LIKE YOU AND I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU STOP TALKING TO ME I TELL HIM AND HE REPLIES AFFIRMATIVELY. I TELL HIM AND WHEN MY BOYFRIEND LEAVES THE KITCHEN AND HE […]
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SITA | Lakshmi Mitra
i. janaka loves me the way one loves a goddess, but not the way one loves a child. he says my hair is like a clear sky on a moonless night, my eyes are blooming with starfire, my skin is the bottled radiance of a setting sun. but i want him to say that he […]
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ODE TO MONTEREY BAY//OR// THE FIRST POEM THAT IS NOT ABOUT LOSS | Emily Alexander
the first poem without road sign poles, empty of direction. the first poem without missing teeth i know all about borrowed bodies. i was born landlocked, with a cup inside my chest, oceans deep. in california, the highway between my house and downtown traces the outlines of the pacific, both nervous bodies reaching, spooning, matching […]
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CEILING | Léna García
Palm trees and military barracks fade white from the sun, the way it was before they got here and plucked all the butterflies, like candles from cake, and rust red water poured into rivers mixing red dirt with ocean, forming clay, the kind I painted and sold on the sides of desert freeways. 1964. The […]
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I AM AN ATLANTEAN EFFORT ON MYSELF | Meryem Nuh
you do not know. i move from room to room. every morning. moistening my eyes. sucking in my belly. pruning my fingers in juice of mango. weathering my history on my forehead. the women in me want different things. breathing with my hair. rubbing honey cinnamon and shine of the moon on the inside of […]
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SEPIA | Fortesa Latifi
looking back, everything is sepia to me now: the pills, the shaking, the undressing, your neck in the shadow of the lost night, the pills, your hair cut over the bathroom sink, the broken front door,
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ON OLD POTS AND NEW YEARS | Bee Walsh
Mama told me it’s important to cast a spell around nightfall on the first day of the New Year. Some years I forget & maybe those weren’t some of my best, but as the onions caramelize in the bottom of my oldest pot, I whisper some of the other secrets Mama told me about new […]
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A CONVERSATION WITH AN IMAGINARY FRIEND | Becky Yeker
What does it feel like to feel? It feels like the thoughts of every living person are inside of you, like they are thumping against the side of your head and they are reflecting off of your eyeballs like they are mirror images of yourself, even when they are not you. Does it feel like […]
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BITS ON SOUR BOYS | Naomi Langer
i. Sonic We eat in his car, parked, light off, radio on, watching the sun set over the edge of suburbia. Romantic-like. If we wanted, the identical tops of a hundred gable roofs in the distance could almost look like mountains, the heat waves off of the hot summer pavement the surface of a cool […]
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COUNTING CROWS | Olivia Ladun
I like to call this counting crows. A boy told me he liked me while I was high and crying listening to some indie bullshit. My ex girlfriend smoked everyday, 3:11 pm, after school in her backyard, and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy. Tell me you like me. I like to call this […]
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THIS IS THE CLOSEST I’LL GET TO PAINTING YOU | Ayah Elbeyali
the beat of your heart– one. two. three. four. the gleam of your sweat– heat. shimmer. hips. quiver. the almond of your eyes– green. kind. honey. mine. the space behind your ribs– ache. flood. furnace. blood. the palm of your hand– red. flower. touch. devour. the bend of your thumb– square. raw. hook. trace. the soft […]
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VAGABOND CITY 