Poetry, Volume VIII
Papa Willow
Popcorn, Karlen Lambert On some nights the pasture and the prairie fire, red blooming, are still, standing straight, unbowed beneath the biggest moon, that downglows to the grasshusks, each of…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIWhalebone
Comfortable, Jihyea Jang By the time we’d uncovered the whalebone our legs were already thorned dusted, turning indigo with evening. The afternoon spent running through the eucalyptus that hung in…
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Poetry, Volume VIIITranquility
On the Edge of the Falls, Sarah Moore An Imagined Theater Scene 1. A woman glides into a bathtub of snow. As her body fills to brim she realizes it is…
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Poetry, Volume VIIILarger Half
facetime, Saber Paustian In ninth grade I made a list of oxymorons. Plastic glasses. Open secret. I reveled in the duality, like holding dark chocolate on my tongue to let…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIThe Smallest Hearts
Little Architect, Natasha Hirt I. Mouse II. Spider Huddling in the corner of a frost embroidered net, your hairy legs are curled in to protect the core. The powerhouse is slow and…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIToof
Portrait of a Friend, Noah Bavonese believing my mother’s language sane, I raise my hand. perch bluebird-shy on the edge of a desk too nice to ever feel like mine.…
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Poetry, Volume VIIICempasúchil
Moving Forward, Brittany Lenze Cempasúchil La boca de una niña llamada Flore se mantiene abierta por el Viento, o un tope de puerta. En el umbral ella observa Sonidos otoñales.…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIThe Millennial
Disrupted Cannon, Colleen Simmons One day we’ll have all of our memories Inscribed on rusty USBs. Our grandchildren can wear them on chains of silver and gold and remember we weren’t…
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Poetry, Volume VIIINegro Paranoia
Light and Dark, Grace Long I will be shot by this white man because I come into his store every day and disturb his displays. I am always fingering the…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIMary, the Magdalene
Geodess, Eric Fram On Tuesdays I am Mary, the Magdalene with wrinkled skirts and bruised vagina. I hide in The Tomb and hold onto things until they cut into my hands…
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Poetry, Volume VIII20 Questions
A Better World is Possible, Ernest Volynec I think what I wonder is what is your mother tongue? What words have you forgotten? Who taught you to answer a question from…
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Poetry, Volume VIII
Haibun For Womxn Who Are Told to Forgive
Disrupted Cannon, Colleen Simmons The old church. Pastor X hits the podium until he beats forgiveness into our mouths. The word coats the tongue like a caramel in the heat.…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIPrEP Kabuki
Planet, by Karolina Klonowska When burial. When banquet. When meadow & its scroll of frailty. When viewing anatomical cross-sections of my lymphatic system, I imagine a finch blooding toward…
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Poetry, Volume VIIICrude Oil
Pins and Needles, Kamron Williams the Earth didn’t have a cunt, so the men dug one out for her. they were delighted by the black gold ejaculate, and proud…
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Poetry, Volume VIII
Song in the Shape of the West Bank
On the Edge of the Falls, Sarah Moore This is a new language in which home makes no sound. Violence whimpers his tune, hollow, and inside, story-caked…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIForget-Me-Not
About the Author Kayla Ziefle · University of Central Missouri Kayla Ziefle is a UCM graduate with a bachelor’s degree in English. She worked with Arcade Magazine, where this piece…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIMatrimony/Matriarchy
Light in Hand, Liza Hollenbeck my mother dreams me unafraid and wedded. don’t sleep with boys until you need to marry a citizen. in my sleep, i dream of girls …
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Poetry, Volume VIIIbeing half brown is
Memory, Veronica Torres a (un)Holy war: white or Arab, American or Lebanese, fought between broken noses almost blue eyes a spangled hijab church bells a bald eagle perched on the branches…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIBad Things
Sweet Dreams, Hannah Elizabeth High The helicopter noise your car makes when you open the windows on the highway, The static on the radio, The ringing in your ears. Your…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIwashington, d.c.
Flickering Strings of Love, Paul Knight i see the guiding vision warping, changing “we stand in solidarity with sex workers’ rights movements” becomes “we stand in solidarity with all those…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIfor the time i saw Marsha P. Johnson at the Stonewall Inn on a visit to new york city
Blue, Linnea Shurig surely not the ghost of your body inflated with the hudson like an old mylar balloon the kind a child begs for and then abandons to wander through…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIBhooth
The Japanese House, Effie Jia They pick marrow from their teeth With calloused fingers and fish bones Outside because the sweet night air and smoke from the street vendor’s…