Poetry

by Marianna White
Image: Ambika Thompson

It doesn’t matter where I am, the line at the grocery store, brunch, a funeral.
Some part of me is always angry
ready to pull the hair out of the shower drain,
but it is easily led away.
I am attracted to women that are so full
of themselves, they leak.
Continue Reading →

by Callan Latham
Image: Friederike Jäger

My dad cuts up a watermelon in the kitchen,
the first of the season. It is seedless, smiling
with no teeth. The heart is always the sweetest,
he says. The hummingbird outside begs

for more sugar water, manmade nectar. Continue Reading →

by Francis Bede
Image: Francis Bede

A poverty of toys enriches the imagination
Of a young child on Camden Street
Her Promethean eye that grows
Into stories, into character’s heartbeats;
Continue Reading →

by Ronny Rose
Image: Ronny Rose

i ate the holy parts
sacrament tastes better
out of turn
Continue Reading →

by Karen Breen
Image: Ambika Thompson

So, over the summer, I read that book by Descartes that you gave me.
He was wrong about a lot of things, I hope you know that.
Just like you trying to tell me that I couldn’t know you
and how it’s fucking easy. Continue Reading →

by Simon Perchik
Image: Maya Bornstein

You read out loud the way this bed
listens for the makeshift seam
loosening each night down the middle Continue Reading →

by Janelle Cordero
Duality @ Janelle Cordero
i woke to birds my eyes / were open and i could still hear them but / this is january and the birds / left our city months ago so / i ask you what’s more real / birds or my thought of birds and you / would of course say birds because / my thoughts are not your thoughts but / to me i cannot choose because / the boundary between my mind and the world makes / less and less sense the more / i pay attention / Continue Reading →

by C.B. Walshak
Image: C.B. Walshak

he had skin so tan it was almost brown
and a ponytail: grey and blond

he was sitting on a bench
while his dog licked its paws
in the restful shade below Continue Reading →

by Cameron Haramia
Image: Rahn Marion

A whole village of Italian chefs as baby
mobile above my crib. One of them,
they might say later, the most mischievous,
stoops down to caress my kindling chin. Continue Reading →