Poetry

Humming by Alyssa Witvoet

Dearest Wide-Eyed Body, as in our last year of childhood,

        How should I address you? So much has changed—
                I find myself unable to separate 
                your eleven-year-old being 
                from its subsequent Becoming. 

Genres & Genders by isabella gonzalez

Chapter 1

I, the little hero, swallow the sun,
tired of the torturous heat that flushes
my skin petal pink. 

Rotton by Anna Helldorfer

Out of the womb, 
through the woods,
to the place where
my limbs eat my soul. 

Soju, Soju, Soju by Emma Burden

The first time I went to Chinatown was when Marge Simpson still had her pastel colors,
She sat in front of a ViVi Bubble Tea, with an cross painted upside down on her forehead,
I sat beside her sipping taro boba from somewhere else, and my mom took my photo with her,
I stayed away for four years

Poem 84, Emily Dickinson, 1859 by Alyssa Witvoet

Her breast is fit for pearls, 
But I was not a “Diver” — 

How could I be? A diver—to swim so deep I could no longer see the Sun, to immerse myself so entirely in the abyss and trust—the air would return to my lungs. Endlessly sentenced to scour muck for priceless pleasure, no say in the matter. And yet, how different would it be, really?

Susan’s Response (1861) to Emily’s Poem 84 (1859) by Alyssa Witvoet

Her breast is fit for pearls, 
But I was not a “Diver” — 

If you are a diver, tie me to your wrist. Twine my palm to the creases in your knuckles, drag it through the muck you are scouring, again and again find the priceless pleasure you name. My absence may have muddled your heart, yet I am begging, pleading, beseeching your tender forgiveness.

Super-Veggie by katrina lambert

Zoom in, real far in behind your refrigerator door, and inside you will find a world in the vegetable drawer.
Ever looked before?
It is unlikely you would have seen it, the creatures that live there won’t reveal it.

Rosy Chamber by Grace Yanucci

How peculiar that a childhood will
Dissolve,
A glass filled with a dulcet lullaby.
Ballet slippers, glazed pink, warm white cotton,
A bedroom veiled in fog.

Purpleheart pedestal by grace yanucci

I can feel the notches in my spine
up against the bedpost;
I am surprised by my autonomy.
Shame.

Swimming in April by Booch O'Connell

i wait for you to kick me out.
to hear the roar of thunder and know, then
that i must go.
i try to kiss your surface,
but you melt into my mouth.

Prose

Banana Bread by Maia Nuñez

Directions: 
1. Preheat oven to 350°: Remember the week where you lost your Claddagh ring and proceeded to lose your mind? It probably wasn’t all that expensive, but you were so happy about your mom being happy to share this little relic with you.

Harrison Ford by emma burden

It broke my heart when I realized I could never love Harrison Ford. I was 14 when reality set in. Not that he was a celebrity, or was 61 when I was born, but that I am a lesbian, and this man I thought was perfect was something that I can never have.

Moonstruck by emma burden

My heels kept slipping in the mud. Each time I’d fall, she’d pull me up again, physically pressing all the air out of my lungs. She smelled like spring air, the dust from a church pew, and the fabric softener that clung to the t-shirt she had tied her hair into.

The Last ones off by Brian Gibson

For his part, Ned had picked up his place in a novel he brought from home, a whodunnit which had found its way onto their coffee table from somewhere or other. Alice gave it a try, but it was too grisly for her. She had stopped after the murder scene was described, with innards and intestines hanging out of the poor girl’s abdomen and her blood seeped into the carpet and all sorts of other horrible things. It was perverted; she had lost any interest in it. Ned began reading it at once when Alice told him that she was giving it up. When she asked him why, he said that it would be wasteful not to, and of course, wastefulness was the honorary eighth cardinal sin in Ned’s estimation. He smiled at the book, hardly registering her interest in him. Maybe he had figured out who murdered that girl before the detectives did.

ART