Prose
Patron Saint
Maeren Quirke When I was 14, I determined two things about my future: I was going to be a ballerina, and I was going to marry a Protestant. Both resolutions came about because of my parents. My father had a reliable job working in insurance, and my mother was a housewife. Neither of them encouraged… Read More Patron Saint
A Civilised People
Olivia Mofus A Civilised People “For Obukpa people, God is everywhere and in everything. You can talk to him through the sun, or through a star, through the moon or through an iroko tree or even through a mound of clay.” *** In those elementary school days, my mother made sure to bring us to… Read More A Civilised People
wrestling wind
Kaitlyn Hung The prickle of outdoor air dances through my nostrils, its unfamiliar temperature and humidity filling my lungs. I inhale—diaphragm, chest, stomach—in in in. I exhale—whoooosh–pushing the air out out out that same path with a powerful contraction of my diaphragm muscles. A heavy sense of calm coats my body and mind. I breath… Read More wrestling wind
Bayshore Boulevard
Ava Paulsen “So here we have our watermelon.” In front of Dr. Thomas Stevens sits a swollen, green watermelon. The top has been cut so it’s flat, and the bottom is leveled off as well, so it can sit on the table without rolling. “Now, if I were to place this metal block on top,”… Read More Bayshore Boulevard
The Stifling Entrapment of an Eternal Moth
Ginny Lee There is a moth who sniffles and sulks at the train station at every dawn without fail. I am there most weekdays because the coffee shop I work at starts its daily cycle around then. The moth would greet me with a nod as we became friendly strangers. For the first few months,… Read More The Stifling Entrapment of an Eternal Moth
Anya
Alijah Hill Dinner sat on the table. It was a prime roast that had been simmering in the oven for the past four hours and forty-five minutes alongside perfectly diced onions, carrots, and potatoes–all the same size. The inner portion of the meat was rosewood colored, and the glaze was precisely and evenly distributed throughout… Read More Anya
Mother, Before Me
Qanita Zahara I remember the first time I heard my mother howl. A cry, not muffled in any attempted disguise, but deep and guttural. The kind of cry that came from the pit of the stomach and clawed its way up the throat. She sat on the corner of her bed, a hunched silhouette against… Read More Mother, Before Me
Colpo D’Aria
Julia Neus COLPO D’ARIA verb literally translates to “shot by air.” noun refers to the chill that makes you sick, encompassing both the cause of the illness and the resulting illness itself. Isabella stirs through the stone walls separating my room and small balcony from her nursery. It is 6:45, 40 minutes later than she… Read More Colpo D’Aria
A Kumquat
Téa Baum The door to the house is shut. There are three separate locks: the first a rusting mahogany bolt, the second a corkscrew textured black, the third a thick bronze chain latched securely on the wall. She installed the second and third locks one month ago. Not by herself. It was a ruggedly handsome… Read More A Kumquat
Vision Board
Asiyah Arastu A little girl lives at 829 Foster Street. She leans out of her perpetually open window, about to release another purple heart into the cascade of hearts that flutter down the brick wall like flightless butterflies. Artist Ryan Tova Katz wanted her art “to make as many people happy as it can,” so… Read More Vision Board
