Category / Issue 02

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  • Prophet – Aneka Brunssen

    concrete pillow – the vagrant’s time machine is broken.   smog-painted sunset strobe-light stars   like home?     where’s home?   the air tastes like concepts of culture systematic surrealism. crowd covered in…

  • Hell and High Water – Jamie Grove

    Do you ever think about what people look like when they die?  Not right after they die when they just look like they’re sleeping, but after, when they’ve been in the ground…

  • The summer of her discontent – Sarah Bigham

    Flashbulb memory                of a tiny                   pink shawl A cherry blossom               …

  • Missing Lover – Kari Astillero

    When river resounds among girls sitting on rocks and each voice combs like a moon-song: rope vines crawl like our hands,                to reach    …

  • Shopping with Abdullah – Rick Forbess

    In my dream, I was back in Riyadh. I needed dates for the family picnic, but the clerk had only hamburgers. Hamburgers. How strange are dreams, but now I am thinking of…

  • Spirit Bear in the Garden – Marcia Arrieta

    the poetry of the old farm & the island that is art   in storm    in indecision the raft   a morning of light &  drawings   to breathe through the story…

  • Note to Self— Marcia Arrieta

    the railroad tracks   The Light in August   rebuilding the house these are the days of sequencing ordinary into unique complexity into simplicity   holding the leaf—the tree’s reflection in the window the clock…

  • Black – Shahd Alshammari

    She was covered in black, a whirling, twirling abbaya*. Her love meshed into you, crimson-blood drops on your lips, Only when she touched you the lights went on, the darkness of her cloak was a…

  • Mustard Originelle – Clarissa C. Adkins

    I sit in an amalgam of bucket wenge armchairs, the paprika nostalgia of 1973 family rooms— pungents of acidic honey who appear   as lava glow along wood panel. Reclining back further,…

  • Relentless – Sheikha A.

    I have been stalking your travel maps: always my source of agitations. Your tastes are eclectic. My skin is pale brown, the kind that has seen sun in equal amounts of moon.…