On the Thursday Bowman and Carmen had a party, they ordered Sukhothai and Bowman made a playlist for the occasion.
The Almanac by Max Dunbar
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Magazine
Haud Yer Wheesht (Hold Your Tongue) by Lindz McLeod
Love leaves me whole, / a pockmarked moon. / Pared wounds knitted together / by chewing ants, each / champing tiny jaws over my flesh.
Safe Glaswegian Home by John Tinney
With his throat the scene of an alien autopsy and anxiety washing over him in waves, James thought about the work he had to do to get another job and fund existence in an area once called the murder capital of Western Europe.
Old Fruit by Hattie Atkins
From the upstairs window, I see him appear. The young boy – running on legs as thin as matchsticks – comes into view at the end of the street.
Anorexic Erotic Dream by Becca McGilloway
In a bathtub / rimmed in lime / basil salts, I take / a spoon
The Recycled Teacher by Jan McCarthy
When I was a child, and the weather prevented me careering up and down the street on my roller-skates, I spent hours in my bedroom, creating tiny books out of scrap paper held together with split pins.
Witch by Sindhu Rajasekaran
Suggi watched crows pick at a dying dog’s flesh. One pulled at the skin to stretch it while another pecked to cut. The dog’s guts spilled. Blood oozed. Nerves and clots pulsed outside Suggi’s cage.
Whip Stitch by Becca McGilloway
I used to sew / along the edge of my body / – to interrupt / the Mare unraveling / my stitched skin.
La Editora by Anaregina Frias
“Mom, how did you actually meet dad?” I ask. She glances through the family photo album in my hands. “Margo, I’ve already told you. I nearly drowned in my three-day swim and he was the lifeguard who saved me,” she says. She smiles, save for her worried eyes.
Beggars and Choosers by Claire Chee
Singapore in 2022, just beyond the brink of discussions about preventing global warming, is hotter and wetter than it has always been.