Month: May 2025

Ode on a Warm Sea

VENUMI GAMAGE
My fingers trace the smooth blue tile on the wall as we walk in together, catching on jagged line after line of grout. This is how I would map your body, catching on and pausing at every next new tile of you. We swing our balmy limbs onto the benches, like synchronised divers; in this moment we are perfect score, perfect twins. …Continue Reading Ode on a Warm Sea

Self-Portrait Axed & Open

GABBY AVENA
A child is a fruit, I am told. Time carves / my center: two bodies twine inside / like aphids around bark. Harvested / fruit, your flesh emerges peach-soft & fuzzy, / sweetness suckling upon release. I shudder: / the taste is fear, or relief. A child is a fruit: from which / a new world is born. A child is a fruit: dropped & bruised / & poisoned….Continue Reading Self-Portrait Axed & Open

New Eyes

BEA AGBI
the hospital’s radiology and imaging floor / I took a look at my bones
and the x-ray confirmed what I already knew – / that these branches are palms,
this skin bark, no difference between breath / and chlorophyll save the distinctions / of time. When I’m no longer standing / Still waiting for a word from the old gods / When I’ve given up on keeping my lips clenched…Continue Reading New Eyes

The Buyer

EDWYN CHOI
“Incredible,” the buyer answered, still looking up. If the plot of trees were a painting, he resembled a smear on the finished canvas, a sharp, dark smear. The wind was not blowing anymore. He felt a little warmer. …Continue Reading The Buyer

the way home

SERIN HWANG

The woods behind my old high school burned down the winter after my senior year.
They were gone within a day, leaving behind only the ash that settled on my car and the smoke that dimmed the sky, turning the sun a blazing orange. I was home from college at the time, abandoning crisp New England autumn for a dull West Coast winter, snowless but mildly chilly, until it wasn’t. California was still burning when I got back on the plane….Continue Reading the way home

Sempervirens

JUDE TAIT
A small child weeps as parents bury a bunny in the backyard. Hastily planted petunias stand vigil under a clouded sky as the tiny body disappears beneath the earth. The child can still feel the warmth of the bunny’s belly, can still smell the familiar comfort of its fur. …Continue Reading Sempervirens

Ithaca

AIDAN CAHILL
Someone jabs their thumb out on the side of the road. Olive green headband. Wicked shades. Early 20s, she’d be a model in New York, just a drifter out here. Who is she, anyway? Should be a bigger deal than this ragtag hippie straight outta Woodstock….Continue Reading Ithaca

Half Baked, Fully Burned

IZZY BAIRD
It was the night of our last party. Your parents didn’t care to see you graduate and your lease ended that Monday, so Friday night was the last time we piled into that one bedroom apartment. May’s heat felt like July and your AC was busted, so we panted like dogs while sitting around your TV, huddled in the smell of our sweat and cigarettes. …Continue Reading Half Baked, Fully Burned

Tell Me Again

AYANA ALLES
It is a strange thing, when a lifetime of memories consolidates into the tiles and sheets of a hospital room. The world narrows to white walls and blue curtains, beeps and cries, a persistent chemical stench. It’s not like there are gaping holes in my mind. It is more like: I do not know what is gone. Who is gone. I cannot miss them, so I do not feel an ache for their loss. Until they visit me. …Continue Reading Tell Me Again

고향 (gohyang)

HANNAH KWON
From above the bridge, you see half-frozen streams and hear the rush of water pulsating beneath layers of ice. And as if in immediate response, your body hums alive, blood rushing to your numb fingertips, the static-like buzz a reminder of how fragile the flesh you blanket over the thing that lurks inside of you actually is. …Continue Reading 고향 (gohyang)

Specks of Dirt

MARIAM BESHIDZE
She walked in and the smell of fresh grapefruits and magnolias walked in with her. Her head was bent: an overripe fruit hanging from a young tree branch. Her eyes searched the mosaic tiles of the floor. She seemed to look for an ancient map hidden in the crevices, but instead her eyes bore into the neatly accumulated specks of dirt…Continue Reading Specks of Dirt

&

MEL ARTHUR
it begins but doesn’t end with the earth, / only a memory you don’t keep / anymore,
because the first snow was / clouding your mind, my camera, the two / green chairs that surrounded us // even / my gloves that were on your hands / because I was cold but you claimed / your fingertips were colder…Continue Reading &

Turnabout

MIKE ROSENTHAL
For all it was his idea, the old man carried less of the body’s weight than me. We stumbled across sprawls of uneven roots and underbrush snares with it dragging between us. The creepers and ivy of the Forevergreen hung a few feet off the ground, neck level for six-foot bipeds. And there was only one animal like that in the region….Continue Reading Turnabout

The Tree

KIDANE PINCUS
The Tree stands atop a knoll amidst rolling, grassy fields; yet no grass grows upon it, its slopes bare and lifeless even in vibrant heights of golden summer. Its roots reach deep into the soil, worming their way through soft wet earth like eels, and its thick pale trunk rises high into the cloudless sky, its bark smooth and unblemished…Continue Reading The Tree

Untitled

OLIVIA LAW
Somewhere at 7:43 on a Sunday morning, two girls have collapsed into a web of limbs on a twin sized bed. Their wrists, each marked with a college grade stick-and-poke pine tree, press against each other….Continue Reading Untitled

The Pimple

OLIVIA TENANT
I’m getting ready for another night out, painting my face thick with concealer and foundation, over-powdering my face, and dousing my cheeks in golden glitter and pink blush. I’m using one of those mirrors with the perfect lighting which is supposed to help me apply my makeup perfectly, but it distracts me instead….Continue Reading The Pimple