Category: Poetry

by Lucy Waigner I swallowed fifty aspirin, vomited—red as the August streets of Rome.My mother held my hand as she did when we walked the streets of Rome. A century earlier, no one saw Quentin Compson drown himselfin Mississippi—a place that lives forever, like ancient Greece or Rome. My first day, one of the boys…

by Arielle Hebert We were the kind of girlsthat brought a bat to prom,smoked cigarettes in the parking lot,sequined party dresses cutabove the knee, trim calves burstingfrom black heels, curls fallingflat in the humidity,the kind of girls that shotgunned beers,belched reapplying our lipstick,popped in a peppermint to walkpast the vice principal and into the disco…