-
Symptomatic
by Chelsea B. DesAutels Even after stitchesI bled through cotton & time— red afternoons,crimson midnights. Still they hush womenwho complain & anyway I was busy tending the baby so I washedmy underwear into rags. What would you have done? A woman knows when to bite her tongue, how to grindthe muscle until there’s nothing left but sweet familiar red. Chelsea B. DesAutels’s work appears…
-
The Golf Course Is On Fire. That’s a Start
by BJ Soloy We’re not just hunted for sport or food; we’re hunted for light.The light here is broken, with a certain ferocity,a stutter bred in captivity. As we wait, patient, light shoots through the glass & glassed light sprays & stainsthe walls. After hacking up oursavior’s name, I’m so hungry.Honey in the skull. I address the…
-
listen: my right hand is covered in blood
by Porsha Olayiwolo we are in my bed again and i am holdingher. this is unlike how we usually fuck. herspine is nested along my forearm and herhands lace my neck. everything is gentle.the lyrics blare for us to bend back and hairtangles the birth of her name in my mouth.i love her hair. black,…
-
Praise / If nothing else, / Half Shells
by Kelli Russell Agodon Praise Find me wild about stir-fry, about red velvetsofas and the people who sleep inside booksand dream about commas. We are floodedwith forgetfulness, with fallen plum blossomsmisspelling our names on the driveway. Praiseour too many expectations, how we overestimatethe weather, each other, overestimate how deerwill appear if we arrive with food.…
-
My 22nd Century Family Road Trip to the World’s Largest Marilyn Monroe-bot
by Tom Kelly was traffic jams, rest stops, diner eggs splashed with Tabasco sauce, was hitchhikers’ thumbs & deer skulls & Mom playing I Spy a cactus, was heat lightning, ostrich farms, donuts stolen by prairie dogs, drive-ins & billboards & dicks drawn on road maps & bikers fucking in a cop car, Dad determined…
-
Take My Hand, It’s Ceramic
by John Paul Martinez Take my hand, it’s ceramic. You may hold it as firm as you’d like. Slide our rings from one joint to another. Whatever it takes to make our hands feel more than they are. Teach me how to peel clementines, one finger then the next. Make a fist to show me how soft I must always hold…
-
Spiritual Recession
by Suzanne Highland my god made me a brutalist. an idolizer of concrete instead of autumn. disciple of architecture isolating one window from the next. my god still drops into my dreams sometimes as a small safe or an ankle monitor. reciprocates my loyalty by shoving my face in it. even the trees behave more…
-
In the Color-Grinding Years
by Andrea Jurjević In the prewar and in the postwar we made colorsusually in the school bathroom between classesa swarm of girls crowding the graffitied wallssome of us entered one of the three narrow stallsin pairs one pulling jeans down to her kneesher shirt a wrinkled valance over her downy hivebabbling…
-
Bills
by Bobby Elliott Remember when the lightsused to go out? Not even flicker –they would just shut right off.Sometimes you wouldn’t noticeif you came home after schooland there was the usual sundoing its usual errandsaround the house.You would take a nap in the afternoon.You were a kid and hatedyour math homework.And you would wake to…
-
ancestry, part 2
by McKenzie Chinn i bought this gold linen dressto wear on my trip to the desert.i know that a dress in the desert is impractical,but maybe that’s half the point.whatever. i trust myself. i am going to the desert.i want to know what real stillness is like,what stars can really do to a sky andif…
