Poetry
They Named Me Diana
by Emmie Christie in Issue Fifteen, May 2024
They named me Diana,
they vilify me on their news reports,
they say that I’m insane, a category five
of wind and spinning rain, and they’re right
to run away from my madness if that’s
truly what it is, yeah, I’m a crazy bitch,
if bitch means a slow... Continue →
The Saint of Nothing at All
by Jess Gofton in Issue Fifteen, May 2024
I am a vertebra crowning
Sevilla’s ghoulish horde.
Ribs on a chandelier
in Prague. Ten fingers
twitching in ten churches.
Yet I once received
feverish promises,
into ears the fish later ate,
from a carpenter’s apprentice
who... Continue →
Brushstrokes
by Elizabeth Shack in Issue Fifteen, May 2024
The swirling colors of space and time
float by the windows of the generation ship,
a whole city—planet—galaxy unto itself
soaring past aeons of stars
Colors?
Space is vast, black, and featureless,
the ship a gray pinprick, pockmarked with cosmic... Continue →
no one can kiss you wrong if you're dead
by Temidayo Okun in Issue Fourteen, March 2024
i drew a smiley face on a blank page & gave it legs / there is no wind strong enough to destroy something that only exists on paper / there is no hurt powerful enough to tear
apart this cage I call a body / i have made this shell for you with my hands / & maybe death only comes when our... Continue →
After they blasted your home planet to shrapnel
by P. H. Low in Issue Fourteen, March 2024
you could still pretend for a while. Perhaps it wasn’t even pretend—your body still remembered home as a pause between your third and fourth ribs; remembered an absence of walking across a bridge, in this city you’ve chosen as refuge, and keening the surface tension of water. But recently an... Continue →
Soot
by Abdulkareem Abdulkareem in Issue Fourteen, March 2024
"About six million residents of Port Harcourt, the Rivers State capital, risk lung cancer as a result of the impact of black soot." —Dr Furo Green
"Over 25, 000 estimated death counts in Rivers State from black soot related health... Continue →
To market, to market
by Anna Quercia-Thomas in Issue Thirteen, January 2024
do not forget to drag your feet, my darling,
for the road is long and the trees cannot protect you here
and though their hands may urge you forward
look behind,
into the whites of their eyes and the grit in their beards
remember, seasons like winter were made... Continue →
The Frida Train (a golden shovel)
by Russell Nichols in Issue Thirteen, January 2024
“Pies, para qué los quiero si tengo alas para volar?”*
― Frida Kahlo (1907–1954)
The blueprint was hidden under Frida Kahlo's bed, where she rested her feet,
after the accident. Engineers puzzled over the design, knowing not what
it was for, but built her... Continue →
Tell Me the Story of Something Ending
by Matthew Roy in Issue Thirteen, January 2024
Tell me the story of something ending, she said at the campfire,
The story of something that tastes like vinegar
And crunches like beetle shells between my teeth.
He drew in a breath and thought of trivia nights and dead-eyed Zoom call stares
And certifications and... Continue →
Star Stitcher
by A.J. Van Belle in Issue Thirteen, January 2024
I sew behind time
and feel too much
in the dusty yard of the seamstresses’ house.
Space fighters scream across the dark dome of sky overhead.
The army needs tunics, so
I wield my tiny sword.
Blue and green lights flicker overhead, bright enough... Continue →