Poetry
Dawn Witching with Crows
by Devin Miller in Issue Nineteen, March 2025
Softly lift the tools of your secret witching.
Make no noise your mothers will hear, no telltale
scrape of knife on stone; keep your setup silent.
Answer no questions.
Birds will sing these songs with you–meet them, trill for
cry. Then, under daybreak blue morning quiet,
hand your tools to birds....
Bandits of Dream City
by Sharang Biswas in Issue Nineteen, March 2025
In my dreams, we’re burglars
Our fingers ooze through castle walls of toffee and cloud
like a warmed spoon through the toffee-walnut ice-cream I churned on your birthday
Our breath steals between the gaps in a snake-streusel door
like the entire rhubarb-streusel pie you snuck into that terrifying Fr...
Yes, Chef
by Jake Price in Issue Eighteen, November 2024
My life fits inside a sentence.
There aren’t any hours in any days
that can’t be represented with a noun and non-fantastic
verb, and maybe an adjective thrown in. Maybe icy
or starving or blue or dilated.
My nights are orange.
This cheese grater in my hand has created enough orange
zest to deserve...
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 →