Poem with Tiramisu, Sibling Past Thirty-Eight by Jon Riccio

We eat at Olive Garden after learning if our father had stronger kidneys a portion of his intestines could have been purposed into a replacement bladder— the pouch / elimination toss weighing on cancer-free lips. My sister repeats the doctor’s credentials: University...

Octopus by Magali Roman

In Paris, every advertisement is a painting. The city is wallpapered with them: vibrant, colorful posters that grow like moss on every surface. I like looking at the ads when Maman brings me to the city. Every month, we take the Metro to the open-air market, and I...

Poet Trying On A Western by Leslie Grollman

Why not the Western, full of spit ‘n brawl, as horse-you-rode-in-on, or the loyal Buckskin by a grave Why not as Diamondback, all hiss and fit As Longhorn, all graze and cud Why not as fiddle, all pluck, and torrent of foot-stomping Why not ok, boomer at the O.K....

Okay by Dawn Taggett-Burton

Dear Sleuth Readers: The following content is an excerpt from a letter currently on display in the National Museum of Tourism and Immigration. Carbon dating and ink analysis places the letter’s age between 200 and 300 years old. # Hesitant, we step out of the taxi...

Take It from Someone Who Knows by Hanna Thomas Uose

You must love yourself Here’s how you do it: Forget about your mother and father Meet them only in your dreams Accept your age and always think it young Pay attention to the crawl that creeps Up your spine when not attuned Then do the opposite of whatever you are...

Hope Is For The Unprepared (Or Me) by Rémy Ngamije

Content warning: racial slur  “Love has no exit interviews,” I say. “Closure is the poor man’s time travelling.” My voice is cold over the phone. I tell myself the situation calls for it; I’m speaking to my ex-girlfriend, after all. She’s not any ex-girlfriend. She...

By the River by Noah Singh-Harris

It often feels like there’s nothing left to say. Let me clarify: there’s nothing peaceful left to say. Nothing that will not provoke the howling in the night and more blue and green bruises on the soft spots of myself. Nothing that will prevent your rage – forever...

Lost Ones by Lebo Disele

Drifting in and out of consciousness, I ask myself why I am so drowsy… The answer is a dull ache somewhere deep in a place I cannot name or touch. Does the body respond to emotional pain the same way it responds to physical pain? I am trying not to shut down… Babe,...

Pin It on Pinterest

Skip to content