Fiction, 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…
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Fiction, Volume VIIIThe 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…
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Nonfiction, Volume VIIINot 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…
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Fiction, Volume VIIIFor 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…
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Poetry, Volume VIIIPapa 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 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,…
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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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Fiction, Volume VIIISticky 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…
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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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Fiction, Volume VIIIAn 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…
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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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Nonfiction, Volume VIIILas 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 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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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…