This was not what she wanted to do with her day. She had meant to spend the afternoon writing a pitch; now she had scramble to protect her body from a mess that she, even in her drunken state, had attempted to prevent.
Read More
Looking by Emma Brousseau
But the man was jealous of even a peek. He took up my entire sightline that day, hanging half his body out of my eye or running between them to try to block every moment alone, every moment trying to see myself.
Read More
Stick After Stick by Joe Griffin
We pulled into the yard and sat in the pickup for a moment, idling in park. 'That was a fucking thing,' said Rob in a low tone. I looked at him, nodding in mute reverence.
Read More
Six-foot boy by Fay Sachpatzidis
as a child / when i couldn't sleep, / i'd slink into my parents' bedroom / and tickle my father's calloused feet
Read More
Ghost Child by Danusha Laméris
Only he is not my son. / He’s the one I was expecting that season / my belly grew taut as a honeydew.
Read More
The Fall by Morgan Riedl
The fear of heights is more common in women, but I inherited my fear from my father. He fell out of my life’s orbit when I was 8. I have a hard time safely locating myself in space and time, so I orient myself in relation to others: my father (before he left), my mom (before I left).
Read More
Everything Beautifully Sideways by Laura Minor
We sit and talk away the coolness of soil / until no one mistakes this for anything else, / and we are just a tangle of luxury in the grass, / a triangle of bodies holding up the sky--
Read More
Mother, May I? by Melissa Lore
Mother, did I make you proud?
Read More
Mermaid Tears by John Poch
He cannot fathom the stained glass of their eyes, / one girl Mediterranean blue and one a simple hazel / of the island colors here, a hillside mix / of stone pine green and brown volcanic soil.
Read More
Do You Eat Monkey Brains? by Arvin Ramgoolam
What did the future have in store for me when my only cultural touchstones were Apu from The Simpsons, the evil Mola Ram, and the village of starved, tattered clothed Indians offering the hero their last bits of rice?
Read More
A Normal Interview with Khaty Xiong by Jer Xiong
A lot of things have changed me as a poet since 2015, but what these changes have ultimately revealed is that I cannot live without poetry. I need it to commune with the living, to commune with the dead, and to meet the many burdens of grief that come with being alive.
Read MoreAmerikan Swamp by Sonya Bilocerkowycz and Chris Stevens
Recall how deep the roots that gulp this ground. There is no draining what’s already drowned.
Read More
Reclaiming a Name by Negesti Kaudo
For years, I’d pronounced my own name wrong because it was easier, it fit into other people’s mouths better. My mom wants me to embody my name. 'I gave you a strong name,' she says.
Read More
Fountain Square by Emma DePanise
Face-up underwater gazing up bright, the rippled / branches were always more mesmerizing in motion
Read More