Category: Fiction & Poetry

Where are the melting clocks, Samara?

Where are the melting clocks, Samara?  complete loss of subjective self identity  — yeah. that one.  ignition.  like — fundamentally tired.             tired.  where is ego going to die?  — a concrete jungle.  (i want to go home)  where are they going?  (it’ll take me a day to get to the dining table)  where are…

unbroken

unbroken my home is not broken. a little rough around edges, yes, misshapen with love. half-baked with the tardiness of doing things that require too much time minutes before they are due. my home is not raw. deconstructed, slightly, intended and executed. it is strewn with the calm objective that puts too much on a…

Don’t buy me flowers

Don’t buy me flowers. They may represent the beauty Of the life we live together They will one day die And I hope our love never will.   Don’t buy me chocolates. They may taste as sweet as the “I love you” That you utter each day They will one day disappear And I hope…

Love to Give

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…

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…

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…

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