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
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
CHELA CUNNINGHAM
i’ve been to the movies six billion times and kept every ticket. i’ve raged and written. lined up all my bodies and carefully selected who i wanted to be that night….Continue Reading Starchild 11:25
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 &
RIS PAULINO
I scale the cracked shingles, the roof warm beneath my palms, / each grip a reminder that not all heights can be measured in feet. / The sun slips sideways, brushing against the window panes, / and I stand there, taller than the house that never grew with me. / I look off toward the sunset, / and see a treeline—…Continue Reading Forever Green
MERRICK LAWSON
Drew sits in a forest. There was a time that they were here before, but that is gone and it is impossible for them to recollect it. Recollect — re-collect — collected on their phone; they scroll through their photos until they prove that they were here five months ago, that they wore their flannel-lined jeans that may have been stained, or maybe not.
…Continue Reading Rotted
KYLA BISCOCHO
we were on your balcony, / the waves nearly drowning out our words / and I pulled my sweater tight, dampened by the mist, / as you pointed at the hulking metal structures / which you told me were oil rigs / that lit up the sea for miles / reminding you of Christmas trees / floating at the edge of the horizon….Continue Reading the smell of the ocean hit me first.
SARAH WU
He dreams of a little girl screaming. This is a constant dream. He is holding a needle….Continue Reading The End of the World
CLARA DANHOF
if you take a continent and replace it rock by rock, just one at a time until there’s not a single piece of original material left, is it really the same continent at all?…Continue Reading Dendrochronology of the Clam
GABRIELA WEAVER
We hadn’t spoken a word – well, discernable word – for an hour. My fingertips filled the void of silence, grazing your skin, circling your collarbones. I rested in the crook of your neck, forehead pressed to your cheek. My eyes followed the lines I drew on your skin. I lifted my chin to trail kisses up your neck before meeting your gaze with my own. …Continue Reading Untitled
HADLEY HUNT
the painted lavender walls watched me since birth.
the floral printed sheets bathed me since my chubby toes
first touched the ground. the smells of all things fresh and innocent,
doors always open,
windows tipped upwards,
sweet experiments concocted in the kitchen down the hall….Continue Reading Green Apple Walls
ZOE ALARCON
you’re born into the ripe age of freedom
jaded children rowdy roar, hungry stuffed on chicken patties
girls can be whatever they want to be!
…Continue Reading I need you
KAREN LEE
This kind of day called for an intervention of sorts, or at the very least, a grand meeting at the town hall located in the heart of Lanternland, where all the lanterns would gather and take stock of the situation. …Continue Reading In This Litany, A Lost Lantern
MACKENZIE DUNSON
The last thing my mother made for me was an apple spice cake. She always took pride in it because of the expansive apple tree that was the luminary of our backyard. It has always been the most beautiful thing about our house. The branches reaching for the sky, leaves and breath filling my own lungs, its fruit filling my stomach, and its blossoms filling my mind….Continue Reading Spiced Apple Cake
RUTH ZURAW
Our morning-stretched shadows / graze, overlap on the pavement— / heat curling around calves / in gentle waves. …Continue Reading Rose Colored Boxes
GABBY AVENA
A hold unto our- / selves, hidden under blankets / that color the air // red is the evening cupped in / eggnog and projector light…Continue Reading Forticus, the Blanket Fort
By SARAH WU
I learned to be wrapped from a young age. Underneath a Christmas tree, I sat below their pine bottoms. Dangling lights brushed my forehead. Taught how presents should be dressed in lovely colors. Taught to be an object, paper wrapping hiding the curve of the natural body within…Continue Reading Christmas Gift
EVELYN CHI
阿公，jiă bà buāi? 你吃了沒？(Taiwanese and Mandarin for, “Have you eaten?” This is also a common greeting among friends and family members, since hospitality and food are an important part……Continue Reading “Dear A Gong”
CHELA CUNNINGHAM
i want to study your lines of (division) / the trinities that make you (divine). / and when the Christian missionaries walk by us / i’ll ask them if they’ve heard of my god …Continue Reading Communion
MEL ARTHUR
I tell my therapist with a mouthful of
squirming tree branches & …….Continue Reading [WORKING TITLE]
TAPTI SEN
I taste dirt. I chew flesh. I pick at scabs. I gnaw at flesh like a dog that just can’t let go. I twirl my fork around tendrils of hair. I roll ice cubes on my tongue. I lick at my collarbones, prodding and probing like a—…Continue Reading Homecoming
MERRICK LAWSON
There is clementine sticky on her fingers. False girl. See, there is a chicken on the stove, a breast that is not unlike her own, and the edges of her are fuzzed alloy like the brass samovar across the room….Continue Reading Citrus Chicken
PRISCILLA LEE
She opened her mouth and I knew her immediately, tiger-stripe highlights, grown-out gel nails…….Continue Reading MMM, NOT TOO SWEET
GRACIE ROWLAND
My father’s oversized leather jacket is the first item I’d save in a fire. It has a broken zipper from my heated impatience and a splotch of neon green acrylic paint on the left pocket from my tired clumsiness….Continue Reading Remembrance
MACKENZIE DUNSON
The first thing that you gave me was a drawing. Scribbled in the margins of my notes, insignficant in theory, but boundless in reality. It was a figure, one that I didn’t know, maybe one that you had made up in that head of yours, maybe one that came from one of the many shows that you loved and I don’t think I’d ever me able to understand. …Continue Reading The Things You Gave Me
GABBY AVENA
If it’s okay, I would like to start with the tree, / tenderlined and vanishing. / Focus your eyes on the leaves / which are not leaves as much as / they are bushels which are not bushels / as much as they are clots of cotton fiber…Continue Reading Slow Death of the Generic Tree Drawing
JORGE RODRIGUEZ JR.
Well, I figured I shouldn’t go alone. The woods grow too thick out past the first few miles. After them woods, it’s real tranquil. The sky grows arid, the world seems still out there. A fire goes nice, but too much fire runs the real big holes dry. If you look in the right spots, you can still find ones that light. Once it lights, it’s good for a night or two. That’s why we oughta head out early. …Continue Reading Fools Taking Root
LEYDN MCEVOY
The other day, you pointed out the window / to the glorious hills we call mountains. / These trees tall with secrets, ours– / their tops we cannot see, only dream to, and I forget how little your hand fixes your hair. …Continue Reading May this Bald Body Bring Us
MEL ARTHUR
In the shower, the hot water has taken time to start a revolution. I figured now is not the time to put my hands together to ask for grace. Though I wonder what could satisfy me, hear the hum from the back of my knees…Continue Reading Self Portrait As The Thing Left in the End
PRISCILLA LEE
Never in my life have I been on a road trip. That’s some American shit, and I’m not American, only read tons of American fiction, and I mean Oregon-to-Massachusetts-lorry-truck tons. Never been to America, don’t know if they use “tonnes” or “tons,” or if they call them lorries. …Continue Reading I Write American