literature + art magazine
source: canva by Fabrice B. Poussin Counting the drops, it is not always clear that a flood may be coming by way of the river. Walking on the tow path, mooing at the bovines, singing the melody familiar to the wild coyotes; no light seems to hold power over the new darkness; clouds thick as…
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artist: irune bo by Maura O’Connor one by one, they were all becoming shades… —James Joyce I fled your deaths. They happened anyway. Me, the missing witness. Michael, I will miss you most. The roses you gave me the night you told me you hated me. The song you wrote comparing my eyes to ocean…
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artist: Luisa Jung by Don Thompson (Father X) The old priest must have died soon after that Sunday, his last crack at the Eucharist. What was his name? Forgotten… But I still hear his voice, already faint and far away, sounding like he had cellophane in his lungs. We followed along in our prayer books…
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artist: rosa picnic by Margarita Serafimova The Grave If my father is in it, the whole world is also there, headed by me – a fanfare. Along Athinas I was leading my heart by my hand. It was walking slowly as it was growing wings. ___ Margarita Serafimova was shortlisted for the Montreal International Poetry…
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artist: early worm by D.S. Maolalai and so we grew tired of lamp-oil. whaling too cruel a sport and death too much a price. dirty yellow light like tobacco-stained apartments. too cruel. better to crack the skin of rocks and dig down. and we did and black oil oozed forth, a boon without cruelty. more…
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artist: unknown by D.S. Maolalai I sit in my kitchen drinking wine, banging out letters surrounded by drowning shirts and shiny trousers. laundry day and they hang, shapeless as crashed traffic. there is something; the drip comes like footsteps in rattles on the lino. life – car-wreck surrounded with grim chance and the smell of…
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artist: julia walck by D.S. Maolalai my friends send me news articles which I really should be reading but instead I go on YouTube and hunt for old cartoons; Wile E Coyote and Elmer Fudd – I always like the losers in every game I see but in the news today none of the losers…
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artist: Seamlessoo by Catherine Zickgraf That December, home from school, I’d finish my shift at 3 a.m. My hands cracked gripping the wheel. My breath froze in my lungs I though they’d turn to stone. The houses, too, were hollow. The road, too, unlit. My job was to go home. I sat on the steps…
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Artist: Darvianna Major by Catherine Zickgraf Paper neighbors drape my couch. They hold the baby, bake casseroles I can’t taste. I nibble when he sleeps or sleep when he naps after I’ve boiled the bottles and washed some spoons. I awoke this morning on the roll of toilet paper. Seems it cushioned my cheek sufficiently…
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