Poetry
Lunar Maria
by Eva Papasoulioti in Issue Nine, June 2023
the moon doesn’t have shores
it reflects waves, waits
for the tide
have you ever seen the sea on fire?
skin propagates flame like water distorts
depth
five oceans burned to the ground
all we ever wanted, a tree branch,
to deep our feet in chlorophyll and –
now, all we have is bitter salt
and shuttered glass
in some futures glass turns oxygen
to carbon dioxide
in this one, a green and blue polarity
oxidizes everything we plant,
if we could, we’d spit a sea... Continue →
King Arthur Wakes in 2023
by Tania Chen in Issue Nine, June 2023
It's in pieces: the mind, the Kleenex box with torn openings,
the cables and cord extensions stretched out like the markings of where a round table would be.
The no ending, unending, infinite: the sense of loss;
warm metal carrying the intermittent ticking of the electric surges, Excalibur without its scabbard
this is an old place with the hummingbird flimsy red plastic feeder swinging from the balcony two-steps from disintegration. No castle, no crown.
A Prayer for the Surviving
by Marisca Pichette in Issue Nine, June 2023
The atmosphere is breaking.
A puddle stands in the
middle of the street, reflecting
all our cracked
and rotting dreams.
Two bubbles, slick and oily.
Two men watch
One building folds in on itself
a collapsing ampersand,
frog base
Its last breath is red brick dust.
Grey suit One. Yellow tie Two.
Both are balding, both are giving up.
between their feet, the road... Continue →
Tale of the Beast
by Anuja Mitra in Issue Eight, March 2023
first they called me woman,
then sorceress,
then beast.
blessed in girlhood, I knew men
wouldn’t love me for my magic.
a woman must be a door
that is always open; a space
for someone else to rest in,
a harvest outspread in offer.
I suppose I wanted to show them
my body was no place
for their teeth.
still: when I found the spell
to change me, I hadn’t meant
them harm.
then I began to prefer my pelt,
my huskier voice,
the... Continue →
Seafoam Sestina
by Jessica Peter in Issue Eight, March 2023
As she’s borne softly on the waves,
salt hangs aloft, brining her lips.
Palm trees sway on nearby shores,
but unease gathers in her heart.
It’s paradise, yet she’ll not forget:
her home feels like it’s not enough.
That constant whisper, “Not enough.”
Yet there’s no answer on the waves.
It makes her want to leave, forget.
‘Til kindness from her sisters’ lips
slows her ever-yearning heart.
But it still beats for other shores.
So one day she leaves, toward the shores,
to find something to... Continue →
Picture This
by Monica Louzon in Issue Eight, March 2023
waves crashing over us
i said goodbye to your
two hands cupping a prismatic star
shining lighthouse bright
over dark, indigo waters
refracting on the
tide rising beneath our feet
sea foam washing over our toes
i said goodbye to your
two hands plunging a prismatic star
... Continue →
Instructions from a Signalman
by Crystal Sidell in Issue Eight, March 2023
Now, this is most important: Before the light in their eyes flicks off
you must ignite the wick, set it near the head, be ready to reignite it in
case breath or wind or rain snuffs out the flame. If you trip, the
mortal’s thread will be at risk of seizure because the distance
between our posts is thin as sin. This truth is absolute – there
are always harvesters lingering in the dark, eager to swallow mishaps. This is
why we count their beats, why we carry fire. For the unfortunate someone
who wakens near the pitch-blackened shore,... Continue →
Time Travel
by Ashley Gilland in Issue Seven, November 2022
*Dedicated to my five-year-old self
It’s always me
in my carrot cake tweed jacket
its caramel collar taut around my neck
speckled with goosebumps
pores like moon craters
textured up the vase of my neck
as dehydrated flowers droop out of my parted lips.
It’s always her and her moon shoes
her bangs quilted over her forehead
her imagination quilted over her regard
shelves deconstructed to a plane,
she scatters museums around the matted carpet
worn by pacing bare feet... Continue →
The Blood Tithe
by J.D. Harlock in Issue Seven, November 2022
when the smog finally devoured the dying sun,
the creatures of the night
made a throne of the carnage
and a kingdom of the earth
whereby a tithe of blood was imposed on survivors
carefully culled and nurtured
to nourish the aristocracy
that neither grew nor diminished with the years
its members
who were present at the beginning
and who will be present long after the end
reasoned that
the vampires were owed this blood
for they had granted us law and order
in a world beset by anarchy and... Continue →
That Monster Beneath the Bed
by Beth Cato in Issue Seven, November 2022
bedtime is the worst
mama off giggling and cooing
with her latest boyfriend
me sent to my room
ordered not to come out
the thing beneath my bed
oozes out and wants to talk
about stupid stuff like
what I learned at school
what I watched on TV
how I should do my hair
I tell it to shut up
and go away
'cause I'm not gonna
do up my hair all fancy
or wear frilly dresses
I'm gonna be me
the monster always whines
that it's ancient
it's... Continue →