You try on different narratives. holding each one in your hands, then wearing it like a cloak for a time before changing into another one.
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Rishtein (Relationships and/or Proposals) by Nimra Azmi
Of the one hundred kilograms of loneliness in her body, these interactions managed to keep perhaps half a kilo at bay.
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King and Lionheart by Sarah Gorham
The best way to cradle an infant is skin to skin. Rocking imitates the motion of amniotic fluid. It’s common knowledge that a lullaby coaxes a baby to sleep, slowing the child’s heartbeat and breath.
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Atmosphere in Our Bullshit Little Town by Bryce Berkowitz
Most days, we skateboarded / like the sky was spilling out of our pockets-- / our crusty teenage hearts stuck in a cyclone / of a going nowhere town
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Plastic Has Consequences by Kim Wyatt
I’ve come to realize the reason I am not making connection with anyone is a sign from the universe. I need to go within, to figure things out on my own.
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Trying to Translate Yesenin's Death Poem by Joseph Fasano
how dare you take this hushed young blood / I hold out like a thing you cannot sing of / and say that it is not already song.
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Two Poems by Eileen Pettycrew
we float like bubbles, but I can't help thinking / about our hearts--shaped in darkness, arriving / with a sadness that turns us to fragments, like notes / cut loose from their songs.
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A Normal Interview with Hanif Abdurraqib by Mialise Carney
I think I enjoy how many people can perceive the same performance in different ways, and how those ways might be directly linked to the way those people are perceived by the public when not performing anything beyond simply living.
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Butchering by Sangi Lama
I folded countless cranes into existence that year—so many that I can now bring them to life through muscle memory—without realizing that some folds, some creases you can never take back.
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InnerChild4U by Bowie Rowan
Imagine you are walking through tall grass, your hand brushing against green blade after blade. Walk through your memories like they are tall blades of grass. Let them brush up against you.
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To See Clearly by Amy Hassinger
A song can be a revelation, a reminder of the continual apocalypse that every living moment brings into being: the now that ends with each phrase, the new now that begins with the next. A song can cut through the smog of fear we breathe each day, helping us to—even if momentarily—see more clearly.
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The Unraveling by Natalie Teal McAllister
The beginnings of new threads emerge. This time she puts her palms against the threads, pushes them back into place on his skin, holds them as one might hold together something glued.
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It's A Long Story by Chelsey Clammer
I needed guidance in accepting and claiming my new identity. I needed some education. I needed empowering language.
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Two Poems by Madison Rahner
Give me Leda with thighs / like bear traps, skull-crushing, ready to rush / the sky on her own wings. Leda who lies / poised, nails polished red on her lush shore.
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Epithalamion by Virginia Konchan
For you, I sat under a yew tree's shade / for a thousand years and did not twitch: / I ate only lemons amid a welter of fruit.
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A Murder of Crows: The Kanye West Conversion
Anyhow, Maura chooses ballet for her son because she’s never seen a coon pirouette a la seconde, never seen an Uncle Tom execute consecutive tour jetes. Ballet is safe (thugs don’t twirl), albeit a little effeminate and her husband Marvin would have a fit if he knew.
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The Fish as Healer by Kelly Gray
By the pressure of water / my arms glide back / seraphic, / my fingers catching in the sea grass. / Here, I pray for the sting of salt in my eyes.
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A Normal Interview with Monica Sok by Mariah Bosch
I write down dreams as they tell themselves to me. I write down as much as I can remember, trying to get the details and the order of events right––not interpreting them but documenting them. But I think there’s a little bit of freedom in figuring out how a dream takes shape on the page.
Read MoreContingency Plans by Belle (Bom) Kim
Perhaps I won't be wholly lost if I can make something from this pain.
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Glades People by Roxane Gay
Tricia loved to talk with her clients. That’s how she judged people.
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