Love to Give Her silk brown hair Her doe eyes She is the epitome of beauty. Her soul is kind Her heart is full She has so much love to give. She watches her friends Become wives and mothers. Attends countless weddings Never once dressed in white. A godmother, an aunt None of her…
on grief: unnumbered
on grief: unnumbered we didn’t do anything for your birthday. well, we fought, which is, i suppose, the most fitting us. did you look down upon us and shake your head or did you turn a blind eye or did you expect the call across a landmass worth two oceans to not go…
i realise how quickly my mind takes to this place.
i realise how quickly my mind takes to this place. would you expect the way back home to hurt this much? — unclawing. just a sore-throated dawning, to live in your larynx, lucid, for two-and-a-half weeks — that monotony is birthed of routine. of comfort. would you expect to go home and find the way…
Small Things
Small Things It can be so intimidating to see all of the people and groups Moving mountains, making waves. It can make you feel so small, powerless. But don’t be fooled, For that is the very reason that we must continue to stand up and speak out. It takes more than one person to…
monsoon day
19.7.21 — monsoon day outside my bedroom: through the rectangle of window above my door: light. flickering. mama said it needs to be worn out completely before we can replace it, so that is what we are doing. wearing the light out. i wonder how light dies: does it flicker less often, with less intensity?…
New Me
New year, new me They say. But is it really true? Am I really new? Because the new clothes go on the same old body And the new haircut holds the same frizz. My new phone contains all of my old contacts And my new computer breaks down just the same. My new hobbies won’t…
Rooftops Reach for the Sky
Rooftops Reach for the Sky where iridescent pearl glistens through veils of vapour pulled apart like cotton wads sailing along zephyr winds, trailing delicate strands across asterisms woven through zaffre velvet expanse cloaking the waning flurry underneath where tin brutes bleeding coal rumble along paths lit by sallow globes atop poles flickering through fumes that…
Principles of Marriage
By Annika Lee Author’s note: This is a type of found poem from the source text of 1 Corinthians 7, the Holman Christian Standard Bible (HCSB) edition. The selections were made only from the first word of each line (or multiple words, in the case of “a wife” and “a slave”). The work is a deliberate…
Days
By Katherine To-Hauser Bleakness whispers shouting to inspire the Sickly spinning cogs, dire. For those are days. Pass quick in sum and un-quick in tales told. Dull finger-tipped hoarse breath croaks, ‘Are these days?’ Sleep settles screeching Stop! stand still, head lays, Look up to see the passing days, unchanged Patterns exhaust- ‘What are…
7. devil’s radio
By Annika Lee 1. nostalgia’s mud covers you and a part—a part of you will always want 2. submersion. it always gets worse, never better. entanglements of your heart will never cease their 3. knotted states this therefore is the extent of your one fragile existence: 4. all the food in the…
Youth
By Annika Lee there are so few photos of me from back then my friends were more beautiful, more confident I blushed from shame, not compliments staying behind the camera was preferable my friends were more beautiful, more confident in their bodies and in their futures staying behind the camera was preferable to putting…
November 9
By Annika Lee besides, aren’t we all white-knuckled loners with spirits distorted by deferred longing? didn’t we learn from our youth to stand still and quiet in the burning, as fuel to a fire of unfulfillment? but no, I say, no—and no again, to make it muscle memory, habit of my hand and heart….
Wild West Ethos
By Annika Lee found poem from Facebook comments on the 20 September 2021 New York Times article ‘Homeland Security investigates border patrol’s treatment of Haitian immigrants.’ Look closely it’s not the Wild West. Like master to slave God is a whip playing cowboys. So, big man, how would you stop the runner literally walking…
September
By Isa Boere these silent september skies do nothing but remind me of the golden brown in your eyes with the breeze caressing my skin and the tall grass touching my knees like your hands once did while the blackbirds sing their song after rainfall, the world covered in dew september is…
Acquaintances VI- (If All We Have Left Is) A Fifth Season
By Lua Valino de Jong Although this short story is of my own creation, it is inspired by the book Lanny (2019) written by Max Porter, which I would recommend checking out. Summer Do you remember the day we met? It was summer before I even knew what summer meant. I’d sleep and weep and dream…
The Poetics of Prose
By Lua Valino de Jong The following is a review of two literary pieces, Autobiography of Red (1998) and On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous (2019). Even though it is not necessary to have read these to grasp what is written here, I would recommend doing so, as these genre-transcending works speak for themselves. The recent…
What I Have Learned About Belonging Together
By Dana Zoutman I turned off the light. Or -well, in all truth, I never really turned off the light- I waited and waited until the lamp’s last light had simmered out. It first occurred to me that I could have just turned it off about five months after it broke. Instead, I had just…
Red Children on The Sound of Night
By Sithis Yim Samnang [This is a snippet from a larger project “Red Children Empty of New Beginnings”] ✽ A night was only dark because one’s eyes couldn’t see. But eyes weren’t sights when an escape and a life needed to survive. They were mere moons and stars that couldn’t find ways to shine….
Fairy Tale contest: Beatrice
LitRA, in collaboration with Culture Co, held a fiction contest a couple of weeks ago. The theme was ‘fairy tales’ and submissions focused on retelling fairy tales from the writers’ home country. The winner of the Fairy Tale contest, exclusively revealed here, was Boudica Gast. She won with her retelling “The Beatrijs”, a medieval Dutch…
Through Rolling Landscapes & Acquaintances IV- Tippi Hedren
Through Rolling Landscapes By Fenna Capelle Through rolling landscapes I found a path I needed to pursue It reached out as far as my mind could bear to let it free Like a doubtful sceptic who, in dreaming, knew not where to turn to And I followed it to the last caress of its sheer…