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ANTHEM (Tertiary)

Conversation flows with the rapid ease of three people who have known each other for a very, very long time, and are used to interrupting each other’s stories to add details or predict the ends of sentences. DYLAN and KIT take deep breaths in unison. Beat. (singing) Beat. Beat. Beat. Transition. Time leaps. It sounds like the way a migraine

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In the Blood

Jenny grows up watching her mother
create magic out of fabric,
a quilt to commemorate every wedding and birth
in their extended family and beyond…

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Postulation

  • Samuel Samba 
  • 2 min read

To merit a crisis, we stomach a foreign object,
tide our tongue with grace.
my ribs, lodged into a vessel.
the slow river of my vomit, kayaking…

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Let Me Die Writing

  • Ivy Raff 
  • 1 min read

Let me die writing, Mother
When you come to take me home
May you find me flowing ink
May you find me impassioned…

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Contagion

Little details, the least distressing ones maybe, I could utter, would, if my soul quit crumbling, gathering like icicles at the soft of my throat. Circumstantial or by design, pulsing violent, tight-noosing my heart, this empathy, this cursed mirror, quivering even for strangers with voices sharpened into daggers, the blood misted from their words poisonous aerosol, suspended indefinite. Till silence,

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Revelation

Scene: Autumn 1963. HELENA, age 12, dressed in school clothes, peels carrots at the kitchen sink. MOM, 34, stands next to HELENA washing lettuce. Light pools around them, reflecting the scene in the dark window behind the sink. HELENA I read a book that I can’t stop thinking about. It’s giving me nightmares. MOM What book is that? HELENA It’s

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untitled

There is nothing to give, and there is nothing to take. There is desire and then regret. Desire again and again regret. Always it starts again. We want, we want something, and then we don’t want it anymore. You turn right, you turn left, you walk back on your steps, you turn left, and you turn right again. But it

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untitled

This morning the world is turned upside down. You should not have been born. As usual, the turtle-doves have come to eat on the balcony, you have put on the traditional Egyptian dress that your mother gave you at least twenty years ago. On the walls you have hung a damaged African cloth. There is a lamp, which belonged to

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Experiments

  • Kendra Mills 
  • 2 min read

What cannot make up a body? It was
sophomore year and we were sculpting a replica of the
Acropolis for our history class…

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Deadname

Stomp pink silk cursive into the dirt with your steel-toe boots and scrawl your new name in all-caps black Sharpie over the left pocket of your Carhartt jacket. Two grandparents gave me a three-part name that four languages can pronounce in five syllables or less. Fancy and femme like a senior prom dress; not my style at all, but damn,

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Editor’s Letter

Here it is. Honestly, I didn’t give myself the time I should have between announcing and launching, but we did it. I’m going be brief because it’s about the work and the work is good. Very, very good. I am humbled and proud to have been accepted by each of the contributors. Because that’s how it feels. Every single submission

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Next September 12, 2022
What Face Will You Wear?

Which face will you wear, todayand what will be exposed?The present moment is heavywith associations,laced with memories,laden with perceptions.Colors brighten…
Random September 12, 2022
untitled

There is nothing to give, and there is nothing to take. There is desire and then regret. Desire again and…
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