Showing results for January, 2022
Tracey, what am I meant to do with all this shit?
Zoë Ranson
Tracey, what am I meant to do with all this shit?
Party snacks
platters of them
orange and puffed up
Moloko rasping from a corner
there’s an awareness of space, of bug spray
Sex Is Like Porn In Real Life
Sommer Browning
You know what’s sad? When no one releases your sex tape.
I Love Claire Vaye Watkins But If Two Female Writers Each Choose Darkness Are They Enemies or Friends or Something Other: a review, a love story, a confessional
Elizabeth Ellen
And then there is the question of motherhood. And how it does or doesn’t fit into the feminist narrative, into our ideas of ourselves as liberated women.
Girls with blue hands
Sophie Jennis
Girls with blue hands
I
Psychopathology
in the woods
Naked snow
Cold, bare thighs
keep the snow white.
Tie around a tree
Hide your ruby
ring in the dirt
Rub your hair
against the
Smiley in the Bullrushes
James Lineberger
If we accept the conventional ATF line, bootleggers are scoundrels of the worst sort, caring only for the almighty dollar, men who will poison you with hootch run through junk radiators and contaminated with everything from antifreeze to dead rats.
Weak Tea Scam
Joy Guo
Find your mark. As American as they come. Like this couple, standing a few feet to your left. Around your age, but taller, sturdier, sun-fed and muscular. Their smiles remind you of neatly racked milk bottles.
Why Everything is Everything
Brian Simoneau
Why Everything Is Everything
for my daughter
Because earth is spinning
and spinning and circles
a yellow star. Because
gases burning, flaring
above the poles we spin
Letters From A Young Poet
a a khaliq
Dear Jane,
The TikTok girls are mad at you.
Three Poems
Liv Fleet
BIG TIME
okay i’ll be doing my best to explain myself, to say i did the best i could with what i
had and you did the same my mom will be bringing home ice cream soon
she
Seven Million Minutes in Heaven
Rin Kelly
It was during the seventh experiment that I died, or I think I died—I mean, I must have died because if I hadn’t there surely would have been a lawsuit of some sort, and I’d know about it by now if I hadn’t died. Maybe I’d be filthy rich and wouldn’t have to keep signing up for these research studies and tests just to pay my bills. And to buy my pills.
Two Episodes in the Life of a Mental Health Professional
Harris Lahti
The man who used to be my husband wanted to hook up. “Right here,” he said after parking our Nissan Sable in the road we used to live on and killing the headlights
In the Desert
Emma Brewer
I stared at the other campers, who stared into the center, screaming through their disbelief at what they were screaming.
I Think You Have A Drug Problem
Barbara Genova
So I wanted to bang this exvangelical guy and it's about to get worse:
Horse Poor
Alexander Lumans
After last night, I’m no longer allowed at The Mint Bar. You could say it’s because I choked the owner’s daughter up against the wall next to the jukebox that only plays Cash songs—pushed her hard enough that a quarter fell from the coin slot—or you could say she deserved it.
Stir It Up: Food and “The Other Ones” with Dave Housley
Hannah Grieco
Is it weird to call Dave Housley the “Uncle” of lit mags? He’s that guy, the writer/editor/generally amazing human that everyone in the literary world seems to know. Dave is one of the original
Adjudicate
Michael Snyder
I’m in accounting. Sally in the lab. Among her other duties, Sally is an odor judge. Her nose is rather ordinary to look at, what my grandma might have called a button nose. But Sally’s nose is legend.
Sad House
Matt Barrett
The man wearing a Ray Lewis jersey doesn’t know who Ray Lewis is.
Dream Vision of Frank O'Hara
Natalie Tombasco
Dream Vision of Frank O’Hara
it is 4:40 and I’m drenched in moonstone, sequins, fishnets, and general getting-out
of-bedness at the corner of 11th Avenue and 30th hoping for something
The Club
Melissa Wabnitz Pumayugra
We beat Brock Shamos every day. We beat him with jump ropes we stole from Mr. Randall’s P.E. class
Kiss Me Thru The Phone
Mary Beth Becker
KISS ME THRU THE PHONE
trembling string between two cans
across town fry-gravel longing compressed voice-tightrope
transposed, delivered to you I don't know how it happens-
New to Running
Eleanor Howell
We are always looking for something to cure us of the pain of being made of fallible meat.
Absent Goras
Avee Chaudhuri
The Chetrams were from Trinidad and listened to Bollywood music on the weekends. They were good, hardworking people. Their kids were polite. They were not Muslims as far as their neighbors could tell, since Chetram liked Miller Lite and the daughter wore high-waisted shorts in the summer. It was not polite to inquire.
I no longer want to see Paris with men sixteen years older than me
Mee
The first time I went to Paris, I was seventeen and stayed with a man who was thirty-three, Sylvain.