My mother carries an entire biography in the palms of two small hands, each wrinkle deep and rich with story. I listen as I hold them in mine. Sometimes, when I bring them close to my ear, songs of moments long forgotten ring out into the space between us. From the sound of her bike […]Read more "Sounds of Remembrance by Nam Hoang Tran"
Washed Away. Arthur Schopenhauer said: “After your death you will be what you were before your birth“. When we think of birth, we often forget to remember death. The joy of seeing new life or the prospect of new beginnings and opportunities are seldom marred by the inevitability of the end; death. Yet, the possibility […]Read more "Photography by Shiksha S. Dheda"
I listened (Nirvana) To rest on the shores of Nirvana You must freeze your flow Cut connections to the current And sift through your skin Because buried in you Is the desire to drown, It’s better if you stab your eyes To prepare for never-ending night And if you opt for vision Don’t confuse sheets […]Read more "Poetry by Carson Sandell"
Cento from “Ideology”, “I WAKE UP CURLED UP IN A C.D. WRIGHT POEM”, “Mother of All Balms”, and “Reading Rilke at Lake Mendota, Wisconsin” by Aria Aber & Where Reasons End by Yiyun Li The dead have the advantage of the leavers; those left behind have to have something to hold on to. I rearranged a vase […]Read more "Once-Upon-a-Chimes by Aura Martin"
The counselor urged us to talk. “It’s a chance for you to tell your story.” This wasn’t a story to me. It was my life and I was still living. I sat in the circle with other damaged people. We listened to talk about what was wrong with us and how we could save ourselves. […]Read more "HELP IS COMING by Nate Lippens"
Wheels I remember feeling, long ago, some of that derisory teenage anguish— as if I fell to my feet, warlike music all around. Now I’m in the car, my arm outstretched, in the blustery weather, remarkably euphoric and roaring into downtown, torn apart and put back together then torn apart again and hollowed out— shifting, […]Read more "Poetry by Christi Gravett"
DAY DRINK When I step on the anthill, the grains roll across my foot with all the grace of fine desert sand. I find a flatness when I expect burn—remembering the fire ants back home, how they climbed up my little legs. I have carried that bite and itch with me forever. In my thick […]Read more "Poetry by Natalie Jane Edson"
I think sometimes about my old customers. The ones who died young. There were so many of them: painters, roofers, landscapers, handymen. Salts of the earth. Some had been coming into my shop for decades, always with the sense that it would go on like that forever, the two of us – shopkeeper and customer – […]Read more "Florida Men by M.P. Powers"
My name is Bosco Maltez. I’m an artist, poet, photographer born and raised in South Central Los Angeles. My artwork focuses on the city I was raised in as well as “lines,” in my poems and my photography, which represent paths that we take that lead us to where we are meant to be. This […]Read more "Photography by Bosco Maltez"