Deafening
Captive, Cynthia Lee My parents and I have spent all day at Boston Children’s Hospital. I’m not sick, but you wouldn’t know that from their reactions. I run off to watch TV while they talk in the kitchen, too quiet for…
Category: Volume VIII
Eucalyptus
Growth, Liatris Hethcoat Wednesday mornings are steam and oil, cigarette smoke and other unpleasant smells, which is to say that Wednesdays are really no different from Tuesdays or Thursdays or any other day except Sundays. Elle doesn’t work on Sundays.…
The Gate
2, Julia Broeker I ran over my boyfriend’s parents’ Maltipoo with my Ford 250. It wasn’t intentional. I’m not a psycho-animal-murderer or anything. I had just punched in the four-digit code, a pathetic 0000, and pulled through the front gate,…
Not Above the Knee
Karla with Candle, Kreuzberg, Berlin, Samantha Metzner When I was in fifth grade, I asked my mom if I could start shaving my legs. There was no real need for this—I was both blonde and prepubescent, for Chrissake—but the question had…
For Dogs Have Encompassed Me
Livelihood, Liza Ashley She sniffs his gun because she knows what gunpowder smells like. She likes the smell. Daddy and me used to take her down to the holler when we would shoot old beer cans. Daddy used to use…
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 them unmolested by black cow, nor tomato bug, and the…
Whalebone
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 the windless air. Your hands were still balmed with sagebrush,…
Tranquility
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 not snow But finely powdered shards of glass. Scene 2.…
Larger 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 the bitterness linger. When I came out, this is where…
The Smallest Hearts
Little Architect, Natasha Hirt I. Mouse You run from owls and coyotes, the rigorous bum-bum, bum-bum of the tiny bass drum rings through your marimba ribcage. Little rivers of blood and memories traveling, meandering through cracks in the bones, treading through snow as…
Toof
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. ain’t no word mr. whatshisname can flash that I can’t…
Sticky Air
Hands, Katherine Rogers There was a spider climbing the wall above my bed. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It was one of those nasty Florida spiders that’s so much bigger than it needs to be, bred on an…
Cempasúchil
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. Ella espera Por el niño llamado Picaflor (¡Picaflor!) Inspector de…
An Alien Abroad
Cellular Hierarchies, Effie Jia Dear Mom, My year abroad is off to a good start. It’s a bit chilly, but I’m told that’s normal for this time of year. People here only have one sun, so they don’t have alternating…
The 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 always so old. We didn’t wear tech around our neck,…
Negro 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 etched shot glasses and the Elvis-emblazoned postcards near the Kama…
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: Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros los…
Mary, 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 and I only cry when I smell sweat. On the…
20 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 a friend like it’s an interview? Who taught you to…
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. Sickly & immovable. A corner store for sinners. This is…
Maple 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 together, though my ‘r’s didn’t stop sounding like ‘w’s for…
PrEP 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 an elsewhere & I imagine it one thousand times. When,…