Poetry & Short Fiction
READPlease don’t talk physics to me. The people are tired and money is made off emotion. Another day, day, day, then a sliver of time.Swiss Cheese
A poem by Yanita Georgieva.
READI wrote a song for a withering flower on the balcony, without knowing what beauty is. A man stood inside the mirror in my room, measuring corners of fat on my chest. We played hopscotch; you said I could use both legs if one of them was dead.The curse of Hephaestus
Two poems by Abhishek Anicca.
READI feel at best when life escapes me. An ambulance rushing back and forth the scene. I want to curl up on helipad gravel & draw myself idle on an island of chalk. This habitat for crimeSelf-Portrait of An Emergency
Two poems by Jared Maxilom.
Two poems by Renia White
READin my own reign I suffered
Two poems by Renia White
READWe hugged each other tightly and quickly let go. With no hope of seeing each other we cried, “Hope to see you soon.”A Journey to Kandahar
Two poems by Elyas Alavi
READeven though no one can quite name it everyone knows that something is monstrously missing from me2018
Two Poems by Yusra Amjad. Illustration by Priyanka Paul.
READShatterd by by bullets; shiny glass facades Shitty coffee poured in environment-friendly cups. Sports cars on crumbling asphalt And, high-end brands walking in a seiged airTo a Suburbia Called Ramallah
A poem by Adele Jarrar.
READYour refusal might enrage the master. He might abuse you, and call you a parasite for refusing to do any work after eagerly swallowing the food last night. Become even more determined. Sit tight.Wild Grass
Two recipes / poems by Rajyashri Goody; with audio reading.
READAfter going missing for three months, Lisa, Suddenly appears at my midnight window. “I have an idea. A very bad idea” She whispers through the bars. I, both waking and dreaming Forgot to ask the important questions. “What? Tell me”.Bad Idea
A poem by Aleena; with audio reading.
READit takes only one time of writing something to call yourself a writer but how long until the title is revoked? just how much non-writing must one indulge in in order to be punishingly excluded? is it a week, a month, a year? or is it until all writing utensils are out of harm’s way, no longer kept at an arm’s reach, or worse, simply no longer reached for?Verdict
A poem by Vanessa Kowalski: with audio reading.
The abandoned skin of a smoked salmon lies on a dish as everyone’s stomachs are full. The fish has been washed down with sparkling wine, with bubbles that make people tired of wishing everyone a good and blessed midsummer, that makes marveling the good weather too effortful. Each time they celebrate the nightless night by raising their glasses, the edges around their words become softer, blurrier.
READMidsummer Spells
A short-fiction by Johanna Valjakka.
READYou own my wet pink sock As everything else I carried Dry memories disrupted by molecules of time A silver stoned flower nose piercing Peacefully scrimmaging with your wild red curls Supposedly acupuncture for the nerves Pain relief pins in India for childbirth. Ensured in the volcanic pile of all your belongings High upKeepsake
