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April 6, 2023 |
in Fiction |
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I’m flat on my back when he takes out the gel. A gob falls on the floor. This won’t hurt, he says. Fisting my hands, I stare at the wall, the basin, a neatly framed poster...
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March 30, 2023 |
in Poetry |
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CRANING The wings are scoredfeather by featherof nearly weightless wood,and neatly folded one over the other.The student of art in Kinshasaput her name in capitals underneath.Mbantshi.I...
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January 12, 2023 |
in Poetry |
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I will keep holding my breath, counting the slow pauses between when my mother’s gentle feetbend low in the morning, to when the bed holds the warmth of her body that once rested there....
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January 12, 2023 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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I Eve stands beneath a tree in the cool of the day, naked and unashamed. Juice drips down her chin, the sticky blood of knowing. Outside the gates is pain and a promise: unto dust shalt...
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January 12, 2023 |
in Fiction |
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He was enormous, stretched, gold cat-eyes, the skull of a dog, crisp, beneath which the long mouth lay, all under a ceremonial gold braid, surrounded by erect dog ears; each of them drawn...
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January 12, 2023 |
in Poetry |
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Better than immigrant recipes because tastes lose their tribe. In this neighborhood few buy lard— heartstopper, scale-breaker— preferring the viscous, the transparent, cakes...
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January 11, 2023 |
in Poetry |
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All light of yesterday in this place is now hidden. It could be the ground heating my feet or it could have fled with the stream into some larger body. I wait for the moon,...
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January 11, 2023 |
in Poetry |
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HEEDFUL “Hospitals in Ukraine are being battered by artillery and airstrikes with increasing frequency. The World Health Organization said that as of March 30, it had verified 82...
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January 11, 2023 |
in Poetry |
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Insects have transformed into a graveyard the windshield of my Indian Scout. My brother rumbles down the engine of his Chief, pulls off his gloves, loads the camera &...
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January 11, 2023 |
in Poetry |
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Winter’s darkening hour, shroud slipped over the leaf-strewn grass we once called backyard and patio where we sat under stars, wine in hand, warmed ourselves around a well-fueled fire pit...
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January 9, 2023 |
in Poetry |
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My virginitywas hole my Catholic mother dugin our gardena paradise the always summerand my virginitywith crumbled dirt on its edgesmy mother with her iron shovelof Godand I grafting apple...
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January 8, 2023 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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Romantic partners just aren’t bikes, are they? My eighteen year old hybrid still runs like a dream. I just pump up his tires at the beginning of the season, and once or twice during, take...
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September 27, 2022 |
in Fiction |
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When the lights went out the second time, we stepped into the hall to see if the blackout was affecting our apartment alone or the entire complex. The night manager yelled up the stairway...
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September 24, 2022 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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Monica heard a strange sound while preparing for her grade 11 history class. She wassitting in her classroom, the students’ desks still empty. There was a clattering, anincessant tapping,...
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September 23, 2022 |
in Poetry |
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BY THE FERRY LANDING Clouds gather, an angry mob,then silently scatter, no rain.Some days you’ve just got to believethere is no grand plan.We have found each other by chance,and by...
[new_royalslider id="17"]
Ana Flores is a sculptor and ecologist. Her work is informed by how pla
2 Poems
Let Me Straddle Your Mind
The Crusader
Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back
it was important to me
Kwame Dawes
1
Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun
shacks, where the road loses its way
to dirt and live 
[new_royalslider id="11"]
Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to lea
Junot' Diaz
and Edison, NJ
The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no on
Elegy & Poem
"We are all the other."
…and find inside a picture,
of myself as a child, sitting
on a small chair, wearing overalls
an
Raphael Perez
To Alex, on turning two
Some say the Ring of Brogar
is the Circle of the Moon.
There is n
March on Washington
An Interview with Cheryl Evans
In a strange twist of what seemed
like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti
Mecca was painted over. 
Forest Gander
A Translation
Quassan Castro, poem
Grandson to Grandmother
Wynwood Walls, of Miami has been called "a Museum of the Streets."
Low like the mean dream
of Newark the sky must
have seemed to its builders.
Rickety now, unhingin
At last, the extremes
of his present methods
seemed to offer
the happiest avenues.
The strengthe
5th Limb
Poems
Poem, Knot
Poem, Look This Way
Xue Du, Poem
A woman in a black kimono dyed black hair
disappeared behind a black curtai
Poem:
Behind the War On Women
Maria Mizzotti-Gillan
Short Story
Pilar Fraile Amador
poem
Lady Haiti
David Trinidad
Landzy Theodore
Angelo Nikolopoulos
