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Showing results for July, 2021

Two Poems photo
July 7, 2021 | Poetry

Two Poems

Daniel Duffy

Traffic

It’s 60 degrees in January so the birds have decided to just stick it out because who can afford the time-share anyway and the flowers bloom completely off-key like the conductor is drunk

Milk photo
July 6, 2021 | Fiction

Milk

Mike Gillis

It had been a long frustrating day, but at least he was now bathing in a bowl of milk.

Facing Charges photo
July 6, 2021 | Nonfiction

Facing Charges

Ben Nickol

And yet, and yet, from the rear pew of my mind came a rude slurping as my straw probed the ice of a Pepsi.

death fruit photo
July 5, 2021 | Fiction

death fruit

Keshe Chow

my parents drive around our home city, in the off-season, looking for fresh durian, durian which my brother and I think smells like

(i) death

(ii) shit

(iii) those fetid socks at the bottom of our school bags

Five Poems photo
July 5, 2021 | Poetry

Five Poems

Alexa Doran

Dear Casey Kasem. The body chocolates

rims itself in melt. This does not matter. You have made voice the only magic. the only way to cast a spell. Maybe that’s why I’m bored with witches. with

My Boyfriend Who Lives in Canada photo
July 4, 2021 | fucked up modern love essays

My Boyfriend Who Lives in Canada

jen ly

We get back together, because of course we do. He is better, now. Therapy helps both of us.

Two Poems photo
July 2, 2021 | Poetry

Two Poems

Jessica Poli

Isolation Cento

eating the leftover snow
we speak a shadow-speech
from room to room closing lights
very-stars
rush with a crackling sound over
a lake
and there is so much here
to last us all

None of This is Okay photo
July 2, 2021 | Nonfiction

None of This is Okay

Sara Heise Graybeal

Dan texted his wife before going on the ventilator. She shares most things on Facebook, and she has disclosed this last message, too.

For Your Consideration photo
July 1, 2021 | Fiction

For Your Consideration

Adrián Pérez

Consideration of Deferred Action for Chilhood Arrivals

This is when your humanity ends, when a pen hits this paper.

Barely Visible photo
July 1, 2021 | Nonfiction

Barely Visible

Nikki Campo

Since my mom died after my second wedding, I don't have anyone to tell me if my mustache is showing.