Poetry
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 conditions in 2019" —River State Ministry of Health
Smoke eats into the cloud like rust
chewing out the doors of a decrepit bus.
I push the wind in my throat into a cough,
black spittle on my palms, the colour of night—
I've inhaled too much of this darkness, but
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 to be suffered
and it is hard to recognize the curl of spring through a darkening sky
changeling child, once-darling-one, remember
that though you may not know your way through shadow,
it has felt your toes in its leaf-covered carpet,
the shuffle of... 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 hand-drawn estaciones to learn what they could do
100 years after her death in 1954. Standing by one street corner booth, I
remember watching people with no legs or with no arms and people in need
of a lift drift into Mexico City skies as an unseen airstream carried them
wherever they... 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 diplomas that meant nothing—
Just ink and wood pulp, better now for kindling than anything else.
She watched him as he thought of the global riots and work stoppages,
The trashing of corporate offices and the liberation of the sweatshops,
How we pulled the statues... 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 for me to see my work.
I sense every thread.
Old tomes say magic workers used to feel the threads of life,
but those were ancient times.
No one feels that now.
When Mother Sellers’ hand rests heavy on my shoulder
and she says she’s very sorry,
I... Continue →
hu li jing 狐狸精
by Wen Yu Yang in Issue Twelve, December 2023
they’d tell me
how much a fox’s honour is worth
without weighing it so why not
steal a boy’s honour
braid it in as
another triumph
bask in this
demonic glory
my mother
muzzle crimsoned in rooster
her grin always saying
you never know
this might be The One
who’ll make a scarf out of you
the copper air lingers
everywhere I go... Continue →
What You Find at the Center
by Elizabeth R McClellan in Issue Twelve, December 2023
after @notaleptic
six feet down and you sat
in the garden filling your notebooks
with scrawled labyrinths; circus tents
overlapping the paths and midways.
ten feet down and you cried
over some girl who liked math and uppers
better than cartography or tracing
the lines she drew between you or me.
fourteen feet down and you're a bad dream.
my mother says I never had a friend like you
and she would know. I have your notebook,
followed it here,... Continue →
The Princess and the Frog
by Archita Mittra in Issue Twelve, December 2023
is this how all things end?
with a croak, a hiss, broken glass—
some spilled wine, a sliver of blood
and slime, trailing ever after.
tell me something else, then.
where the frog never becomes a prince.
that way she never marries a man
whose kisses are a mossy damp,
in whose breath she can smell algae
and underwater dirt as he pulls her to bed,
a sticky tongue across wet cheeks.
where the princess' golden ball remains
drowned in a green pond... Continue →
The Dome
by Elis Montgomery in Issue Twelve, December 2023
Molten air stifles, sea-thick
and as sickening. Pocked stones
become bowls I water with
weighted limbs. Drained pith, dry bones
in this park. All beyond thirst.
You could drink first but your eyes
are unseeing like they’re dried
open. One more fried sunrise
(what rainforest?) then drowning:
leaded wings won’t let you fly
when need floods you. You won’t eat,
beak gaped at the heat-dome sky
like a young crow pining for
her mother. I am not her.
Will you trust... Continue →
Teen in Recovery from Dystopian Books that Were Portals
by G.E. Woods in Issue Twelve, December 2023
Teach yourself joy,
the therapist sings to you, white strands splitting her black hair.
One paper heavier, you leave her office,
contemplating the self-care list she gifted you. Cursed you with.
‘Eat flowers. Be music. Make friends with beating hearts.
Feel yourself m
o
v
... Continue →