Poetry
Castles in the air
Timia Quincy McCoade Tear through my flesh & leave a prayer in my carcass or slip it behind my ear on our way up I-95 press it into the dryness of my palms in December while I’m too distracted living the life I dreamed of at seven I listen to folk & can sit through… Read More Castles in the air
This Goes to the Black Ladies at the Airport Who Recognize a Sistah in Need—
Alexis Bodrick seriously y’all God sends His angels into that cold white space, a hangar of portals to the ends of the world as we know it; and yet you…you always seem so bright, so warm, bundled in those tight fitting sweats, flaunting those curves. in that white space, that hangar of supposed endlessness (portals… Read More This Goes to the Black Ladies at the Airport Who Recognize a Sistah in Need—
Relojes
Amaya Mikolič-Berrios Canorous Ana Torroja, pop princess Of my father’s blue mini cooper On a CD he borrowed from my mother And never gave back. Disc and wheels spinning Over the island’s stagnant time— Hoy no me puedo levantar Toda la noche sin dormir— In the backseat, I fall asleep to the swell Of her… Read More Relojes
Nightly Ritual
Ryan Morton Shower water drips in the name of the father, son, And holy spirit from the negative space between Palms I baptize you. Jesus Christ, crucified over The doorway, it’s awfully late now to do this, But I need to ask: Do you ever think of Gesmas down below? Who bothered to autopsy his… Read More Nightly Ritual
Dearth Vader
Arav Mediratta July 17, 2020 (This is a weird piece I wrote based off of a malapropism I uttered as my mind grew fractious a few months into isolation in the COVID pandemic.) Dearth Vader everyday I wake up in a place called TAMPA a giant blue orb like the most polished lapis lazuli is… Read More Dearth Vader
cough syrup jello soul (with peaches)
Ginny Lee There was a dawn When freight trucks rumbled by my window When time felt like discarded coins In an abandoned arcade I pushed my hand into my chest To keep it all in My soul, I mean “It’s leaving me. So what, So shit.” I thought about many things As I held tightly… Read More cough syrup jello soul (with peaches)
incantation / cosmology
Roy Zhu we start as the book of changes, two to four to eight, elemental signs in the warm red center of our mother’s body. rising from the dark, we find ourselves. our breath, a long sort of whole, divides into a pulse. we distinguish quick and slow, empty and full. isn’t it miraculous? life… Read More incantation / cosmology
After Work Hours
Lila Shea The plate is broken. An ashen mosaic on the floor under his son who sobs reprised apologies. But the father sweeps the shards away alone without a word before returning to the kaleidoscope sink. The dishwasher is broken. The scent of daylily dish soap waltzing along pruned hands, water leaping to his faded… Read More After Work Hours
Where There’s Smoke
Kennedy Birtcher I have smelled my fair share of smoke and you, you smell like all the sweetness of it. You’re in the firepit first. Broken gathering breaking bread when dad throws the cat back over the neighboring fence and I am still young enough to laugh until Mom is broiling grease. You’re in the… Read More Where There’s Smoke
When Paul sang of singing blackbirds
Ian Mahanpour Do you remember? When Paul sang of singing blackbirds? Who cry at the dead of night Wanting only to learn to fly? And in frantic jerks from left to right Grope for sight with those sunken eyes? He was wrong, you know, They sing at dawn. But unlike choruses, they do not sing… Read More When Paul sang of singing blackbirds
