Issue 13.3 – Poetry

How I wished to be his cat. I would purr against him, he would pet me He would give me food and water. I would come to him when he was naked on his bed And rub my fur against his belly He would keep me in the house with him He wouldn’t blame me…

Issue 13.2 – Poetry

Pulling into the driveway, memories make me gasp for air. Can anyone know the love that happened here?   The maple tree out front where I discovered how to make noses out of its seedlings, and felt carefree enough to jump in its leaves, stands exquisitely rigid demonstrating its stability. Its branches reaching for the…

Issue 13.1 – Poetry

  Vacation means 12 hours in a park we know by heart.   One churro, one hot pretzel, one Mint Julep sweating through a paper cup.   The first night of vacation means convenience store pizza on Fifth Avenue, means the man behind the counter with wax-white skin and eyes filmed over like a butterfly…

Issue 12.4

Young, but you were never really innocent The imprint I left on the past I want to say a few words To guide you until you catch up with me I have come to accept what is inside of me I don’t ask why anymore But you, I know you ask You will plead your…

Staff Work – Poetry

  “Is your dad still teaching?” She asks Not knowing And I wonder Where have you been for seven months? But how lovely That you got to live In a luxury of a world Where my father was still standing Her question lingers in the middle of the potato chip aisle I finally reply “My…

Issue 12.3 – Poetry

Señora I did what I set out to do.   I put all my hope into getting here Right here and I hate it I’ve never felt sadness like this Like these dotted lines down my forearms Restraer mi sangre hasta donde comienze Like the dust on these books I wipe you away The sweet…

Issue 12.2 -Fiction

They called him Ole, but Betty knew it was an alias. None of the agents who fell from the sky in parachutes used their real name. It didn’t matter. He was the boy from the stall, and he was here, seated on her kitchen bench opposite her brother, accepting the heavy crystal bowl she handed…

Issue 12.2 – Poetry

There is this feeling – perhaps it is regret – when I find old transit cards and other relics of my former urban self here and there, tucked away   like the old metal folding cart I used to lug groceries to my apartment now languishing in the garage; each square of its grid, a…

Issue 12.1 – Poetry

bonnie & clyde have nothing on us.   me, a cannonball, firing 120 mph towards the storm of your heart, desecrating cities as a consequence. (tell me, dear, don’t you love a sad story?)   you, a kaleidoscope tsunami overtaking towers of history built on holy ground.   together, we are nothing more than exhaustion…

Issue 11.5 – Poetry

I was in my fifties When I finally figured out That it is OK to break off A bigger piece of the communion cracker. A piece that’s actually big enough to chew Instead of nibble between my front teeth. The older I get, the bigger the piece I break off.   And I have to…