Raya Tuffaha And what if I damn you? If I write the explosion in stageable italics, if I poeticize and profit-size and donate and educate, what if I learn your language and boundaries, then what?...
Mandy Shunnarah Nobody ever asks who baked the bread, coaxed the yeast & flour with alchemy, or beckoned its rise with knuckles & patience. Nobody asks who smoked the fish, much...
Stefanie Kirby A daughter pops arils into floral stains. Elsewhere: leftover pips solid as teeth, fruit lips curled back in decay. A mouth packed with loss. To be this apathy of...
caroline ganci patterson half of the story i was telling had a moral about perversion, but i leave that part out for the saccharine tongue lickers. i say to my mother, the price of gas on the...
p. hodges adams 2024 Poetry Spring Contest Winner the first hand had square knuckles, like a boy; the second hand could hold a teacup neatly; the third hand was furious. i’m getting ahead of...
Sara Burge down our street screaming, his voice chasing like a pissy wasp. Sometimes he’s an Apache helicopter. Sometimes Baby’s a mouse on a rug. Sometimes their fights are a riff on last...
Samuel Ellington And the barn on my left reads get right with God. There’s a gravel-road token that we can make home. Cut grass, gasoline, and I laughed when they told me the Lord is three...
Cassie Flint Fancher After three days at sea eating fried food and on-demand ice cream, velcroing seasickness bracelets to our wrists, and wiping our lips on towels folded like swans, my mother...
