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one parcel of cud in the jaw
by Liam Strong after Yitzi Hurwitz for ritual & non ritual purposes, i am cloven, split-hoofed, [head & heart separated from the ground] by legs. or a synonym of such. blank face of the ruminant, a holy & un holy cancellation. [g-d wants us to eat them] [g-d forgoes the benefit of consuming negative traits: growth] [g-d inputs a kosher sign between…
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Poem written on the back of your palm
by Jessica Kim and it still fits all the spaces our bodies have grown fond of. We still believe in quotidian gods who camouflage themselvesin our desk drawers full of postcards. Full of river water ripples lapsing onto our ankles, the islands we have yet to conquer. We’re not looking for revolution but rather, a softenedstreak of…
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Self-Portrait
by Michael Beard The United States Postal Service thinksmy father and I are the same person living in two places at once. I have the mail to prove it, our likeness—how he names me againand again with each new envelope.This time, AARP advertising its member benefits, a cardwith the next three to five years reflecting in…
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Nagini Confessional
by Rita Mookerjee In the Mahabharata, the naga are a race of demigods, half-human and half-serpent. They aid Vishnu in creating the universe. Female nagas are known as nagini; they are eerily beautiful and guard treasure. Inside of my bun lives a dark beastboneless daughter of Scylla and Cthulhuwhen my scalp gets hot, it’s time to…
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Washed Out
by Nicholas Barnes i cried in black and white this morning. still no color to be seen. just achromatic fear and dread. i dreamed i was lost in the thorns. i couldn’t find you before the clouds opened up. these mental hail storms come out of nowhere. even on a sunday stroll down on the…
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Mermaid
by Radian Hong I slip through the cracked door,nose brushing the wood.You left it open for the cat,I know. Your mouth is open like an anemone.Your phone rests on your chestunder your handlike something your god gave you.You are a mother,that is to say, a landscape.Where your body endsand the blankets beginis a secret. That…
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It’s the stage of grief where [I become a ghost]
by Emily Skaja I become a ghost. I speak now to the futuregeneration of depressives—that’s you. See me levitate your latte. Write DUMP HIM on the shower glass.I’m appeased by small tributes. Nothing too flashy. The late October smell of burning off the dustin the heat vent. That soft, numb feeling of dragging your hand…
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I have all our iterations collected in a jar (for posterity)
by Kate Porch The first time my best friend injects themselves with HRT,we all conference call on Skype for moral support. Theyexplain the steps to us as if we’re each doing it together–salt, shot, lime, on three–displaying the fine point of the needle,the notches on the syringe, the sharps bin, lifeguard-shorts red, andwe leap into…
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The Intersection of Gynecology and Girlhood
by Hailie Cochran …the womb [is] a female viscus closely resembling an animal, for it is moved of itself hither and thither…in a word, it is altogether erratic…it is like an animal within an animal.—Aretaeus of Cappadocia, On the Causes and Symptoms of Acute Diseases—Book II, Ch. XI: On Hysterical Suffocation When Kaylie got her…
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Past & Future Exhibits at the Mutter Museum
by Kara Dorris Turn the corner. Glass walls, floor to ceiling. Inside glass displays,glass jars. Inside glass jars a clear formaldehyde (we’ve discovered water is decomposition & storesnothing, too near to the body aging). Floating in a center that doesn’t hold almost, lives suspend. I would have never been preservedas a fetus in a jar, but my fused bones with be saved to show what…
