ANXIOUS MIND By: Guadalupe Vial Ulloa
Body made from candle waxeyes carved out of fear.A mouth that can only whisper,a nose that only bleeds.Ears that never listenas instead of out, they go in.Monster is what they Continue Reading →
Author Archives: davidkootnikoff
(NO) CHOICE By: Indie MacGarva
Every piece of plastic ever created still exists.The man in the television is telling my father about the many ways the world is endingWhile my mother reads a book on Continue Reading →
GENERATIONS, UNTETHERED / A KIND OF MOTHER: By Róisín Begley
Generations, Untethered / A Kind of Mother: I think my mother is me. I think I am her mother too. I have her eyes, her face, her hair, her smile. Continue Reading →
APHRODITE’S SHORE By Alicia Travis
I spent many years tangled in sheets with men, wondering what broke inside of me to make me feel… off. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t always feel nothing. There Continue Reading →
CORVIDAE By Jacob Lee Bachinger
Crows, jays, and ravens embody the gastric spirit of the forest. Small, insistent stomachs with sharp beaks, they materialize from the pines, calling, coughing, claiming. Nothing will suffice or satisfy. Continue Reading →
YELLOW BIRD IN A BLACK WOOD By Erik Anvik
in response to “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe “Remember that hope is a good thing, Red, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”-Peter Stevens, “Rita Continue Reading →
THE WOMB By Sara Hutchinson
Feed me, fill me, give me solely one chance, To bear the fruit of your romance. I yearn, plead, beg you, my modest master, Abandon senses, you woman of Aster. Continue Reading →
May 29, 1913 By Lily Wilson
The stage— Percussion Let me show you. Let Me Show You How I Bleed Enter the percussionPrecarious prattleYes, make bones rattle The dancers— Woodwinds Can you hear? Let Me Show Continue Reading →
BIRDIE LULU By Mary Combs
Birdie Lulu was my great-grandmother. A force to be reckoned with, or so I’ve heard. She died just after I was born but left a legend in her wake. I Continue Reading →
WAY OF ALL FLESH By: Jacob Lee Bachinger
Things you see around here: seal carcass splayed on a garage floor— belly sliced open like the pages of an old book, blood pooled in Continue Reading →