Poetry, Volume VIII
Bad 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…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIEverything Must Go
Little Architect, Natasha Hirt as is tradition for the women / of my blood, / I shop too much. will sacrifice / a paycheck like a lamb for the chance…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIshame is a screen door swinging violently shut
Cellular Hierarchies, Effie Jia i’ve heard about the man who eats boys in the backseat of cars—we all have, learned to fear him, the weeping pustule. i didn’t think i’d…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIRipples
Light and Dark, Grace Long now der’s clothes to wash and suppa to fix the missus want it all done quick she hate my black ass cus when i walk in…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIasexual dysphoria waltz
Disrupted Cannon, Colleen Simmons i wanted to be a slow dancer. then i wanted not to move my body at all. not even a ghost in upbeat funeral dirge should…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIThese Sheets and Hollows Are the Truest Things I Know
Comfortable, Jihyea Jang rotten peaches, over ripe plums, …
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIDiscovering the Erotic Creature After Sheila Kelley’s TED Talk
Defense Mechanism 3, Elizabeth Ellenwood Watch her barefoot in cotton— not high heels and silk— enough skin to grip the surface, but not enough to make you think this is for…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIIt Was the Summer
Say a Prayer, Mikaela Rae Atiogue After Neil Hilborn I ate nothing but apple slices & eggs, hard-boiled, lightly salted. It was the summer of forgetting. The summer of scrubbing my…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIYour Name is a Splinter
We Sleep the Same, Kate Drakulic Your name is a splinter, an ice-breaker a loop of pearly fog. Your nineteen are kill notches scratched with an accurate slope on a…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIListerine Bones
Study of Myself, Bella Pozo Every time you kissed me you left bacteria in between the crevices of my teeth But it’s funny how whenever I got sick we both seemed…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIPenthouse Serenade
Girl, Azure Arnot When the note is so high that it shatters thick glass And the smile so hard that it hurts And the tower so tall that it topples…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIgrowing pains
Nature Administers a Rorschach Test, Margaret May i watch lovers on the street kiss with more tongue than fang and call them pathetic for their forked bittersweet longings before peeling…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIAdam’s Gun
For Sale, Jess Mezzi is a womanizer / which is to say its victims are born / between itching crosshairs. this feminine inheritance: / to be prey from birth. /…
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Poetry, VOLUME VII
A.R.
Flickering Strings of Love, Paul Knight Constellations mapped across her face Space matter and nebulas rest under two blue moons Stars mark a trail over a happy nose A spray…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIunsent letter to my upstairs neighbor who’s taking a shower at 3:42 a.m. on a thursday
Rise, Meg Jenson Because, even if we meet, I’ll have no idea how to bring this up in conversation. And you’ve started doing it with some regularity. Sometimes once, sometimes even…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIPerennials
Seven Sundays, Azure Arnot autumn The night I was born, my mother clawed up the tiles in the kitchen floor and buried her deciduous heart beneath the mortar. Concrete-stained fingertips…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIILittle Havana, Miami
The Grass is Never Greener, Vinnie Hagar To the children of Operation Pedro Pan They did not sail above sandy shores dripping salt. Their banners and flags grappled onto their…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIISeed-Pod-Head
The Battle of Antietam in Technicolor, Alexandra Moleski I shaved the back of my head on a whim at 2 o’clock on a Thursday afternoon. There was a gap between classes.…
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Poetry, VOLUME VIIThe Bones of St. Valentine
Untitled, Jessica Ram I walked through a church with an unholy mouth gazed upon this love ghost, this dead thing with sacrilegious eyes (they were looking for God, they were…