By Elika Khosravani I will begin by saying that Every Lady Sings The Blues. It is a terrible hue, a blue of utter pain. Coiled into a...

By Ryan Crawford Lord, i am not worthy   instead i paint my lies like my mother paints her nails cheap dollar-store red & by the TV  ...

A poem inspired by Louis Armstrong and his work. By Caitlin Whitaker 26 letters threaten to combust within me. Xs and Qs and Ys Charge my...

By Elika Khosravani Illustration by Etta Lund high in this papal chair, blessing zealous crowds,  white knuckled with the strained ...

By Gracie Moran (Don’t tell anyone), but I’m here with the students on the steps flickering in buttercream light.   (I think I love them,...

By Gracie Moran No need to search my helices to find my creator, just see me right here in this rotten mood, inhaling  like I want to...

By Gracie Moran I saw chilled extremities stretched over the bridge’s ledge, ducks creeping through the pond in St. Stephen’s Green like...

By George Murphy No city lights scrape away our stars here. The wind comes and goes in darkness, and owls softly boom, as small creatures...

By George Murphy Saturday and we are lost in a sea of cherry-billows,  alone together.   We lie down, reach our roots deep, and pour...

By Remi Seamon Meanwhile, Siberia Long weeks full of swallowing and goodbyes, full of lining up next to caskets to receive strange kisses...

By Aliza Yona Abusch-Magder My grandmother, my Oma, has hands I have come to know as a symbol: that feeling of being a ripening fruit on...

By Kate Sibery I had been looking for a hole in the ocean— so I decided to walk over to the East River but when I got there every person...

By Madison Hu when the light turns red, he will go home in the meantime, three friends walk arm to arm the baby is on his father’s...

By Thaleia Dasberg Illustrations by Phoebe Wagoner “simmer”   over milkwashed fields plucking feathers off corn stalks bleeding I watch...

By Sofia Whetstone

After Anthony J’s Google Reviews By Stephen Dames Jeff always loved me. And I him. When I was a kid I used to go down to the 24/7 on...

By Zibia Bardin The following is an excerpt from a longer work. 1. I visit my grandmother. Outside, the earth presses its face into a...

By Aliza Abusch-Magder Emerald rupture, to ruby, pervades Three rings and pub tab remain, remade That which the light touches, lush Raw...

Anonymous Love Letter I for [redacted] from when we were in love, or the semblance of it I’ve never been to Malibu, imagine high-arched...

By Eris Sker “the trouble with the city fog,” you say, “is it feels like pre-grieving: trading one pearl tear for another and pressing...