Category Archives: Poetry
To the Flawless Girl Who Called Me Hole Leg
By Dena Dillon Oh yes, I know it shows; the scar on my leg from Osteo when I was five years old I tend to forget it’s there, until someone like you reminds me. I suppose you don’t have … Continue reading
Baking Instructions for The Easily Confused
By Mylina Baez after “Letter to the Ceo of Ancestry” by Shankar Narayan They say to measure everything. Be sure to read the instructions correctly. 1/4 White, an American European mutt. 3/4 Mexican, a mixture of indigenous bloodlines … Continue reading
Directions to the Artist Who Will Paint My Portrait
By Kaden Alexander Bell Dear artist who will paint my portrait, please do not make me look like my father. My melancholy gaze may match his but give me the proud smile of my mother instead. I want … Continue reading
Black Holes Aren’t So Bad After All
By Chalisa Thompson after “A Globe is Just an Asterisk and Every Home Should Have an Asterisk,” Aimee Nezhukumatathil From the coasts of Morocco to the curves of Kenya I contemplate Longing to find my globe … Continue reading
guide for a lost kid who’s mistaken herself for a sheep
By Isabella Stewart after El Mundo, Paco Pomet listen, little one: you are not a sheep. you do not have hooves to pound into the dirt floor of this field you call home, and cannot bleat against … Continue reading
Black Water Child
By Cindy Ngo When dark night touches ocean foam – a mermaid will rise. Her fins slicing through ocean currents, And like her hair – will be the core behind storms. A child and beauty of black waters,
Understanding the EMH
By Allison DeBoer The Eyes are like a giant ocean, a constant battle of thrashing waves colliding and choking one another until finally the waters part to reveal
A Grandfather’s Art Work
By Mary Bless Flores On the blank canvas of my life, his variegated work added liveliness. When inspiration dwindled into a hole of nothing, he was there; a pen at hand to outline my thoughts and illustrate a … Continue reading
Hello, Kidney Disease
By Rebekka Paulsen If my father is who you want, Then here is sore muscles and swollen veins. Here are the scars ripping Across his chest, the pains tearing Through the organs.