Poetry & Short Fiction
Additional vocabulary could mean
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The fog spilled in
…Sky
She was a real author who had published real books and I was a fake author that only wrote books my mama and papa would buy. I beg to differ. My papa ravaged by dementia had lost his ability to read and my mama whose sole purpose in life now revolved around caring for him, or talking about caring for him, had lost the desire.
READDosai Aunty
intersectional feminist hands me a copy of how to talk about race
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recites a land acknowledgment
to honor the native tribes
who have been displaced
to make space for the organic açaí bar we frequentIntersectional Feminist
A Poem by Nina Mufleh; with audio-video-text reading.
It is December 2018, my sister and I are in a city we’ve only heard of from stories. Jerusalem, we are walking through the marketplace in the Old City, as shiny things are being packed up we are surrounded by a soft clatter, as lights dim down and everyone slows down, to stop for the day
READVisit Palestine
A poem & artwork by Kihwa-Endale; with audio-video reading.
Sister! We are dripping with rage
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a diamond in the shape of a tongue
it blinds, gives life, so sharp it cutsRagesong
A poem by Golnoush Noor; with audio-video reading.
This is meant to be translated
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Ĉi tio celas esti tradukita al la angla per Google Translate. Ĝi povas legi ĉi tion al vi laŭte.This is meant to be
On her third birthday, I got my youngest daughter a toy space soldier. It was a male action figure in a mech suit. The helmet slid back to reveal a solemn face. Fifteen years later, I still cringe at my blunder.
READDaddy’s Girl
A short-fiction by Toshiya Kamei.
READwaiting for my girlfriend to come to me waiting for my girlfriend to come for me waiting for my girlfriend to laugh at me – so I can weep waiting for my test results to rescue meThe Cruelty of Impatience
The girl looked up, and her gaze met Marina’s. To her mild surprise, the girl walked toward her. Marina flushed and looked away. It had been a long while since anyone had last talked to her. Her heart pounded in her ears and her palms felt sweaty.
READSanctuary
A short-fiction by Toshiya Kamei.
READI wake up on somedays In houses with patched walls And a bucket with water in the middle of nowhere On beds with no sheets And stamped up cockroaches at the edge of the bed My hand’s in a pile of ash And my glasses are lost in someone else’s hair I smell smoke and hear snores The only clean thing in the room is a gleaming red guitarFriends and Their Homes
A poem and artwork by Priyanka Paul.
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
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.
