by Hannah MacAfee She stretched out and tried to recapture that multi-layered furnace between her legs, but it wasn’t working, it was dead. She said nothing as she lowered her extended leg back down and […]
I have no time by Rebecca Ruth Gould
to cover up and correct the unfortunate crack in the window that exposes my nude body. Sorry, construction worker, You’ll have to control your gaze. This is my home.
I will enjoy my nakedness
any way I please.
The girl who invited me
to live in her tent camp
so she could teach me Chechen
sat staring in the corner,
fearing that any motion
might trigger an explosion.
Grozny’s flats were levelled.
Dolls lay disembowelled on the floor.
Glass shards covered the earth.
The road’s yellow ribbon rolled
like a carpet, limning the edge
of my escape to Vladikavkaz.
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 […]
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.
Objects in the Overhead Bin May Shift During Travel by Alexandra Morean
Alexandra Morean is currently getting her BA in writing, editing, and publishing as well as music production. She was born in Venezuela and grew up in Miami, Florida, soaking in all kinds of culture and inspiration. Alexandra hopes to connect with her readers on a spiritual level and provide comfort and aid to those who relate with her work.
The Burial by Ally Schwam
While I eat breakfast, a mourning dove
slams into my window,
trades her life for a crack in the glass.
Mourning by Stacey Z Lawrence
Yet deep within this dire stirring,
I still curl near you,
atop worn velvet couch, pull
piles of pillows below our feet
by Stacey Z Lawrence He is eleven, almost a man when the belt’s buckle catches under his skin. As usual he grips the kitchen sink stares at the faucet drip as she whips. He never […]
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 […]