Midnight Blossoms, Sydney Walker The emptiness you left is there every day, The pillow sheets are often drenched, My eyes stay shut to keep from the truth, My ears still wait to hear you say those two words, My nose clings to the smell of your favorite plaid jacket, It’s been that way for eighteen years…

A Very Long Party in Green, Li Anne Liew I miss  having your head at the  foot of my bed  Sleeping off the pain of loss  my  living room fan  hasn’t spun in a span  Almost as long as your hair (on your head plus your crotch)  About the Author  Allison Lee Reichman-Bennett · Missouri Southern…

Phoenicopteridae Urbana, Jaxon Ke’anoi Bonsack lately, i’ve been meeting my supposed-to-be-stranger on city streets, looking for him on the edges of days and finding him in familiar hallways. but when i see him, i feel my heart stumble and struggle to stand again, so when he closes the evening door, i find myself trying to…

Heat Wave, Rachel Ikins can • cer not an elephant — sickness is the swarm of bees in the room / you want to talk about it but they’re stinging you over and over again so you just try to run / you met brent and you’d been told of the hidden rotting parts but he…

Dorothy, Ciera Land IThe numbness started after her silhouette faded awaywent from trading sly smilesand dancing as fairiesin secret gardensand on dimly lit sidewalksto the longest ache I’ve ever feltI keep the old her in creased handwritten lettersin tubes of rose lipstickin pale apricot yellow yarnand in namaste expelled breathsfrom a place that is bothconscious and…

My Happy Place, Makeda Wells We lived on a patch of infertile land,                           a place where they tried to convince us berries grew in the summer. Nothing ever bloomed except our cigarette trees, growing rich in winter. The smoke was stagnant and held its…

Poppies and WD-40, Chloe Moulin Mania tastes like a Monster Smells like cigarette butts Bleach gasoline And gripping the clutch Infidelity shows up too Grows in Tindr swipes right Purging sweating Lemme take a bite Avoidance: to hide in bright lights Tone-deaf till the beat drops Parking tickets Lipstick and skid marks Jitters sift through stretched…

Whispers, Emily Bryn Sylvia Plath would call me a spic. In the light  my eyebrows almost pass for a Spaniard’s. In the darkness,  Pablo Neruda would call me a gringa. What do you call  a Mexican poet that doesn’t write poems about their skin? Unpublished.  What do you call a white boy that still likes Charles…

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