Category: Poetry

by Vi Ly this lake                        bristles. navel divulges sea pools of peach cream. wet dream whispers       seducing tides to lower their arms and surrender. we empty our mouths to             exoskeletons. stargazers.  to sticky       spindling wonders. i thought about having children then got a new iud.      learned to bake. gave       each sourdough loaf a      little name. wrapped them up in satin ribbon.            rocked them on the windowsill.            i…

by Svetlana Litvinchuk It is the job of the young to paintand wash and bury the dead,to wonder did God create man in his own image, or did man create God in his? In whose image do we shape the object of our doubt? God is here and not here—acknowledging absence is its own way of conjuring.To give form…

by David Moolten “It was a favorite exercise with Andersen to read aloud his fairy tales . . .”For campy, pearl-clutching furornothing beats a library. That’s where to find small children in MAGA hats,a pastor with his outdoor voicetrumpeting the apocalypse.Meanwhile, Ariel, replete with green sequinsand a strapless scallop bra, tells her side.What could be…

by Jessica Goodfellow       an image on the retina  |                                          the last thing ever  |       seen  |                    before death it was believed  |                   & it could be retrieved  |                                                by ‘fixing’  |           like a photograph  |-ic negative  |      with the pigment rhodopsin  |    also known as visual purple  |                               in an alum  |                                                  solution …

by Tom Kelly i knock the small round stone              off its altar and it nestles        snug in my glitch        when i aim at a window        the glitch explodes              my neighbors believe the stone              is an egg and the egg is god      they glitch over how i harmed…

by Jarrett Moseley The blue pills you cut in halflay on the table, next to a glass of water I poured for you, untouched. Outside: A long day with no clouds, skya shade you named Miami Winter Blue. You are sitting with a blanket over your head,hiding, afraid to speak while being seen. You say,…

by Abdulbasit A. Olúwaníshọlá “It is only through names we will be saved.”—Romeo Oriogun, The Mystic of Small Dreamsit is only through death our existence will be known. we write our names on our skin. at least, when you dig through the rubble of our homes & find us, our massacred bodies, with no one to identify us, check our arms—that…

by Betsy Mitchell Martinez after Jerry Pallotta How many tunes can you play with that tiredproboscis? How many times can I resist the call, dilute your trumpetwith the white noise of the sea? I snuff along the shallows, churning sand, my whiskers in vibration with a feast below the floor. The shellsI suction into shards…

by Abhilipsa Sahoo “They ask me to tell them what Shahid means—Listen: It means “The Beloved” in Persian, “witness” in Arabic.”—Agha Shahid Ali, “Ghazal”Your name trembles on my tongue, Shahid or Shaheed?Each sound a shadow of what I’ve believed, Shahid.In the hastened diction of kāaf and qāaf, two breaths divideAshk falls gently; ishq must bleed,…

by Sarah E. N. Kohrs Transparent glass is always|: cold to touch— pressed intimatelyagainst the lip, as if kissingthe taut cheek of someonenever known for their warmthand love. ⊕ We see it coming and yetstill ignore it—hoping death will passbecause we took a vaccinationor a pill that promises longevityof mind. Rewinding time, sowe won’t have…