by Hilary Sideris I know ligo, a little, Ellinica. I make a pot of avgo- lemono feeling a fever coming on, pray to small gods called saints who do favors & specialize. A semi- colon is a question mark in Greek. Sideris means blacksmith like Ferraro & Eisenstein, but siderenios, of iron, said to a
by Laura Zaino We take our medicine carefully. We dole it out one measured dose at a time, ever mindful of the side effects, the after effects, the longing. 400 mg ibuprofen .25 mg xanax 4 oz whiskey 15 mg adderall When I step out onto the sidewalk I look up at the sky, trying
by Elisabeth von Uhl At once, we are strangers — the memory of the wind blowing through stark, golden sugar maples on the side of a hill at my grandmother’s farm — you will never know. I keep this locked, a recollected pattern of neurons, hallowed, reversed, and stripped of color, like a funnel of
by Elisabeth von Uhl Bodies are fragile. A universe wrapped inside molecules inside particles of magic, science, and a divine always choked by a political doctrine: you have always wanted new bodies; yours never had enough beauty, enough resilience, enough white. So now, you will wish for bleached perfection: bodies that never broke and needed
by Victoria Twomey I can say I walked a while with you and dreamed within your dream- that you welcomed in my heart like a wounded gypsy at your door Yes, I can say you fed me as if I were a sacred part of you, once lost and left behind Companions on this tangled
by Hibah Shabkhez Home, snail-mail me my ghost in card-backed brownPaper, with your name scrawled on the back. FrownAt termite-tunnels and spider-spun webs,Pry me loose from their sands as time’s tide ebbs; Home, snail-mail me my ghost. Send me old pain, sepia-soaked, to crownThe numbness of exile. These blank walls drownAll my forced mirth. Send our
by Carol Sadtler The Queen of Spades looks up at me from a chilly city sidewalk— I put her in my pocket—one stray card with two faces—does she signal vengeance and evil, or benevolent, intelligent power? At the end of this ragged year, before the longest night, it seems important to know. Eight lanes of
by Pema Rocker I wonder if my mom tried to kill me in utero. I wonder if I almost died at birth. I wonder when I became I, when soul slipped between stitches, into limbs, in-breaths. I wonder if I ever formed, or if it hovered always around edges of mother father am-them. I wonder the sound when I slips
by Brian Rihlmann I first discovered the limits of photography in 2003, after climbing Longs Peak in Colorado. Elevation 14,259’. A “Fourteener,” as they say. I scrambled over boulders and through a notch in the ridge known as The Keyhole, emerging on the other side to dizzying emptiness a drop-off of a thousand, two thousand feet.
by Kevin Ridgeway I have yet to respond to the friend request I received yesterday from an old school pal we lost far too soon. I am thinking about it and have decided to honor my friend’s request to see if it is really them, back from the dead and taking selfies with their smiling