Nonfiction, Volume VIII
Las Santas
Talking Dead, Amanda Stephen “Dios te salve Maria, llena eres de gracia. El Señor esta contigo. Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre:…
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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 VIIIHaibun 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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Fiction, Volume VIIIMaple Leaf
Junglescape, Meagan Dwyer I was 5 years old when I learned how to pronounce my mother’s name. I’d started to learn enough letter sounds in kindergarten to string a few…
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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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Nonfiction, Volume VIIIFlotsam
Defense Mechanism 3, Elizabeth Ellenwood Picture these personal prompts like reporters, microphones to my face, asking me, So what do you do? What do you want from life? Over…
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Fiction, Volume VIIIKeeping Up Appearances
Light and Dark, Grace Long Harold Orwin was well respected in the anarcho-punk community. And understandably so. He wore black denim jackets with anti-government patches, beaten boots with worn cotton laces,…
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Poetry, Volume VIIISong 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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Nonfiction, Volume VIIIThe Kitchens
Grandma’s Cupcake Stand, Jessica Ashworth When my children think back to the mother of their childhood, what will come to mind? Smiling in the kitchen, the stereo plays mommy lullabies…
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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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Fiction, Volume VIIICream Cheese Weight
facetime, Saber Paustian Ever since Cecilia Harrison’s father told her that no one ate cinnamon raisin bagels anymore, she had made it her personal mission to order only cinnamon raisin…
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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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Nonfiction, Volume VIIIWi, Mwen Se Ayisyen: Yes, I am Haitian
Portrait of a Friend, Noah Bavonese I believe in being Haitian. Haiti has always been looked at as poor and dirty because it is a place where everyone takes from…
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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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Fiction, Volume VIIIRue du Chameau
Golgi, Soren Carlson-Donohue “Don’t slouch, Gazelle, you look like an alley cat.” Sister’s chidings are lost on me now as I sit on our steps. Her steps. My steps now.…
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Nonfiction, Volume VIIIBreathless
Do You See It, Mommy?, Hannah Elizabeth High I. Back then we were just bodies. We would watch Cosmos on Netflix and wrestle on the couch, knocking over empty beer…
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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…