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Possessive
by Kathleen O’Neil That strip of cloth is mordant red. I’d wrestle it, but who wants to be alone? Such a deceptive slip of cloth laid out over velvet cream skin. My little amoret. Touches you lay over yourself say it all. It’s autonomous, a cryptex of brocade and cambric and tells me your fears.…
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Memories
Memories by Kathleen O’Neil This translucent organza covers my skin like snow; the innermost part of me is burning away. It just smolders. Oxygen, the air, it’s everywhere. The cold poison will seep down through soft delicate shoulder, under the left collarbone edge through bone and the shield of muscle.
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The Burial
Ally Schwam is a poet, artist, and professional UX/UI Designer. Her poetry has previously appeared in Tupelo Press’ 30/30 Project, UMD’s Literary Magazine Stylus, and Poetry WTF?! She lives in Bethesda, MD.
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Mourning
Stacey Z Lawrence teaches Poetry and Creative Writing at Columbia High School in Maplewood, NJ. She studied poetry at The Millay Colony and received a fellowship to The Frost Place. She is working on her first book of poems.
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Belt
by Stacey Z. Lawrence He is eleven, almost a manwhen the belt’s buckle catchesunder his skin.As usual hegrips the kitchen sinkstares at the faucet dripas she whips.He never cries, but this timebloody puddles stainhis white socks, the canvasof his Converse,gore trickles down his leg.She places it on the counter,bits of his ass impaledupon sharp metal…
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God & The Invention
by Ally Schwam I created the rain. It’s one of the first things I created. Two years ago I started as an assistant at the Creation Center and then a year later got promoted to junior programmer. The first task I got was to program what a higher-up called “rain.” Rain was just water that…
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The Flood
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 a dirty…
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The Dead 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 my dreams to rainbow. It wasn’t…
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Imitation Tiffany
by Don Thompson (Father X) The old priest must have diedsoon 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 booksas he got lost now and then.The stained glass Jesus behind himhad…
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Two Poems
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 heartby my hand.It was walking slowlyas it was growing wings. Margarita Serafimova Margarita Serafimova was shortlisted for the Montreal International Poetry Prize 2017, Summer Literary Seminars Poetry Contest…