Poetry
Ars Poetica
by Jenna Hanchey in Issue Eighteen, November 2024
You’ve written your last words; you will not speak them
His spell would not let you, anyway
Not now; after years of wielding tiny pins—
too small for dancing angels—
he ruptures your vocal cords, tearing (through)
Only a croak escaping
You offer this croak to the sea witch; you’ve nothing else to ba...
Continue →After doing assignments for an hour with my son on WhatsApp
by Clara Burghelea in Issue Eighteen, November 2024
Here is a bed of downy clouds on demand, yet free to us all,
next, a mouthful of sunlight to measure this blossom of late
November, cornflowers, a pretty pop of blue at the corner
of this end of Roundrock Road, the way to elicit care is color,
lavish from every lawn on both sides of the street, the...
After You, the Stars Went Blind
by Adesiyan Oluwapelumi in Issue Eighteen, November 2024
chasm: i fall knee-deep into the shallows.
after you, the stars shut their eyes—
the dark earth like algae flourished inside me.
my body: haystack in a farmhouse—
a dark animal chewing away silently.
lilith: you who sings a thousand death songs—
i haul the wind like an harp & it seizures my breath.
...
Somewhere in Nigeria
by AbdulBasit Oluwanishola in Issue Seventeen, September 2024
Somewhere in Nigeria: in Lokoja, Lagos,
Somewhere in Abia, Adamawa, Anambra,
some houses have become dams.
People have become Hagfish.
Roads have turned to rivers.
Cyborgs are yet to learn how to
become fish & swim. Somewhere
in Kwara, water has –once again–
blew another bright flame of
some fam...
Meat, Bone, and Soul
by Beth Cato in Issue Seventeen, September 2024
no
I will not
be your princess
no matter how you layer me
in silks and pearls
no matter the finery of your tailors
these gowns will never fit
this strange body that binds my soul
by dark magic and obstinance
you've skinned me of scales
split my tail into legs
reminded me repeatedly
that because of y...
Epitaph of a World on Fire: An Abecedarian
by Jessica Peter in Issue Seventeen, September 2024
And if you remember just one thing,
Babe, remember this: there once were
Corals here. Living things in vibrant hues beneath our waters, not these
Dead husks fully slaughtered by the will of
Ego-driven billionaires chasing profit over people,
Fame over freedom to breathe, a
Globe on fire over bas...
Category 4
by West Ambrose in Issue Seventeen, September 2024
It’s alright, I confess. The frosted echoes bluegold
melts
stained-glass
back into velvet opera chairs. This vicious nature
wakes us up inside,
tells us we’re alive,
forces us to not look away–
gasps, lunges, howls honey'd as ocean’s breath on the moors
at night. Him and I will survive
because we’l... Continue →
Black Bile
by Chinedu Gospel in Issue Seventeen, September 2024
the women |
they raise their voices the way
fire raises smoke & the rain answers
with a flood
the first rule |
the first rule is to stay
afloat until you become something like
a boat but
the men |
they ran
& the water gave them new homes &
new gods & new languages etched on
their tongues & a ...
You must wear your rue with a difference
by Marisca Pichette in Issue Sixteen, July 2024
she makes a pond
in petals pluck’d (forget-me-)
planted in the upturn’d dirt
of graves.
her arms all dark,
disinterred bone dust (dancing girls)
her lungs weigh’d down
with growing things.
she donates her breath to butterflies
& in her throat she bears (swaddled)
chrysalises fit to burst
in colors ...
Ever Noir
by Mari Ness in Issue Sixteen, July 2024
They slink in, hats drawn
low against their faces.
I hear
you find things out. I hear
you're willing to do things
for cold hard cash. I hear
you know something of poisons.
Of death.
You got cash?
Sometimes they spill a golden coin or two,
or seven tarnished silver coins. Or a shirt
woven ...