cover of 2022 spring issue

Fall 2021

cover of 2021 fall issue

Editor’s Note The term “passing” implies movement – shifts from one state to another. Whether that movement is temporal, spatial, emotional, or psychical, our lives are constituted by these transformative moments. Sometimes, the experiences of passing are subtle and elusive, occurring secretly or even subconsciously. Other times, the shifts are immediately recognized, felt intensely and…Continue Reading Fall 2021

Doom Creek, AZ

DUSTIN COPELAND
Death removed from his mount, and spoke: To remove thee I am come, and send thee from the garden forth, to till the ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil. And it was certain that she did not want to die. But she knew, more certainly still, that she did not want to step down the mountain. To Death, therefore, she replied: How shall we breathe in other air less pure, accustom’d to immortal fruits?Continue Reading Doom Creek, AZ

Staat und Mauer

painting of sunset

ROSS KILPATRICK
Honecker gave the order / To shoot on the inner wall / So comrades died, piled up / Under the American red and whites / Of western Coca-Cola signs // But before the BDR Richter, / Honekcer pleaded / ohne juristische oder / moralische Schuld / For humane end / And to Chile he fled…Continue Reading Staat und Mauer

It Will Pass?

drawing of a humanoid tree underwater

A’CORA HICKSON

There’s a difference / Between being alone and being lonely / You can crave to be alone / Crave to be still / In the room / In the space / In the world / But being lonely hits you like a speck of dust / Falling on your arm / It sits and waits on the ledge / Praying / Planning / Its next attack / It goes unnoticed / In the room / In the space / In the world…Continue Reading It Will Pass?

Archival Time

photo of a pedestrian crossing the street at night

JACKELINE FERNANDES
Sauntering along these wooden planks, sputtering words into the studded dusk, syllables falling, slipping onto the chiaroscuro of the busy walkway under my feet, that’s why I’m here, that’s why I’m calling, to remember to record and to record to remember. My lips, dry like forgotten flowers, unwatered but dotted with evaporating droplets of spittle, every expulsion of air condensed into trailing, fleeting streams of water vapor that dip with the weight of all the syllables tumbling tangibly from my tongue, descending into the intangible in this art of presence and absence. Do we belong to history, or is it ours?…Continue Reading Archival Time

Homecoming

abstract drawing of ocean

GABBY AVENA
Ever since the Nabisco factory closed, you can no longer smell the cookies in the air. My Lola keeps telling me this, once as we pass through colorful concrete tunnels on our way from the Newark Airport, again as they are replaced by the tall trees that tower over the road, and a final time as we pass the empty corpse of the factory, its darkened neon lights welcoming me to my hometown: Glen Rock, New Jersey. She tells me that when she first arrived from the Philippines, she wondered how the neighbors could have so much time for baking, day-in and day-out. …Continue Reading Homecoming

An Elegy for my North Star

drawing of someone biking down hill

SOFIA RODRIGO
My grandmother was a woman in the boldest sense of the word. She was fiery and strong, but also caring and selfless. She was Britney Spears CD’s playing in a little red car so old I didn’t think it would make it out of the driveway, but I liked to think it ran on her magic alone. She was breakfast in bed and Saturday morning cartoons I wasn’t allowed to watch at home. She was my North Star, promising me I could always find her by looking up at the sky. She was tough love; she taught me how to climb a tree but refused to help me get back down, claiming that one day she wouldn’t be here, and I’d need to be able to do things by myself….Continue Reading An Elegy for my North Star

In Focus

blurred image of girl standing in front of framed picture

TARA ALAHAKOON
I adapted to life out of focus. // My world was an impressionist painting: earthy hues blended the landscape as swaths / of grey streaked across the sky. // Silouettes danced in and out, / their edges fuzzy. // Like an artist, I played with light….Continue Reading In Focus

Though Untrue

abstract art

ROSS KILPATRICK
Though rivers make untrue / that Land is borderless / (we aren’t mermaids / to intermingle with the sea) / I wish I were / a freshwater octopus, / all kisses and soft touches, / For bones are such a burden / to us, the nationless / and lying in the depths / letting little death sing / there’d be no shame…Continue Reading Though Untrue

Reunion

TAPTI SEN
Please come sit next to me- / I want to lay my head in your lap and / whisper about the boy you love / as you braid flowers in my hair. Once, / I knew you like I knew myself, and / now, I wonder if history is all we / have left….Continue Reading Reunion

Strangers

image of someone's features through blurred window

SARAH WU
I see you on the bus first. Or maybe, it’s you who senses me, turning around just enough for our eyes to meet. Somehow, past the friend I am talking to, past the earbuds pressed tightly against your ears, our eyes lock. You are skinnier than I remember. Age has sharpened your cheekbones, stolen the roundness from your cheeks. The nest of brown pine needles on your head has softened, curling gently at the tips. It is hard to imagine them as the same rat hair your mom used to comb through, her fingers gently untangling the knots, the burrs in your curls….Continue Reading Strangers

Passing

photo of flowers

MIKAYAH PARSONS
You came to me in seasons. / In summer, you were bright and full of life. / You climbed your way up the staircase on all fours / And dared me to do the same. / You had a nice smile, / So I listened to you. // I tripped over those stairs. / That summer was a series of awkward renditions, / With me squeamishly asking for your pat­ience / As we traversed the great unknown….Continue Reading Passing

Fall Relapse

image of yellow and black person sitting

ZOE ALARCON
As the leaves succumb to a coral shade / You’re reminded of your own freshness / How with each summer comes as naturally a deep renewal / A solidifying of insights / But its fragile underpinnings are also suddenly more visible / And the trees’ tactless, rapid shedding / rekindle your sympathy for your own dead leaves…Continue Reading Fall Relapse

Decomposition

drawing of a purple woman wearing a mushroom hat

MAGGIE WU
Autumn in New England always strikes me as an ostentatiously formal affair in which one pulls out their finest wool and leather silhouettes, all in the most somber umbers and teals and siennas. And the dynamic frenzy of summer air crystallizes itself to clarity, a percussive precision dearly embraced. There are colors, too, that convey a taste of sweetness as the leaves caramelize to browns, oranges, apples— apples dipped in maple glazes and chocolate. The mountains are brightly foiled in dark ferns and the sun frosts the valley in maple….Continue Reading Decomposition

I Saw the Edge of Death in a Dunkin Donuts

image of dunkin donuts swallowed by blue hole

LELAND CULVER
“Why are so many people getting Dunkin Donuts at 2pm on a Sunday?” / That was the question that started it all. I was driving to get groceries with Nicole and Elena—Elena was driving—and on our way out of the little strip mall parking lot, we had to navigate through the Dunkin Donuts drive-through line, which had somehow grown long enough to overflow from the space around the store….Continue Reading I Saw the Edge of Death in a Dunkin Donuts

If I Let It Happen

photo of a green field with sun

QUINCY SMITH
The inside of my palms are dirty / From the concrete blocks I sat on // The concrete was pressing against my palm / Creating a print in shape of pebbles // I look down and see the shape this concrete drew on my hand / My fists clench and unclench // Almost as if its searching for feeling / Almost as if i’m not feeling and I need to move to feel…Continue Reading If I Let It Happen