literature + art magazine
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: 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: Evan Sloan by Heidi Slettedahl Loneliness Loneliness a white sheet drawn over me at night, my naked body unaccustomed to the weight River’s Edge I’ve never swum in a river for fear of tides and my dead uncle. My father made us learn to swim in pools even as he stood on the edge,…
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Artist: lunatico.digital by Katie Pukash mine is nothing but stain- each carving a little less. can’t say too much about the carpenter when the carpenter holds the only chisel. pliers for eyes- he will call you Floorboard and Claw hammer and Screwdriver and Sin- will knock at your throat until there is nothing but screws. stained…
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Artist: Thias Silva by Howie Good Sailors just grabbed what they could — a Mickey Mouse teddy bear my sister had since she was little — before the ship broke apart in nightmarish purple seas, the wind wailing as if the wails might actually be expressing something, anguish or fear or fratricidal rage, while back on shore, graves…
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Artist: Marcos Guinoza by Rita Mookerjee Nemesis People admire a sense of industry / a spirited sort of communism / how the labyrinth tenants toil away over early blooms / tufted legs weighted with sun dust / convening in their planet in service of the one true queen / everyone admires their golden down /…
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Artist: Stephen Coley by Salvatore Difalco When my father was in the late stages of terminal lung cancer — chemo and two operations had not slowed it down — a group of his friends came to our house to visit him. They had been drinking. Giacchino Palmieri, his godson, the loudest among them, slurred and slobbered greetings to my father, who…
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