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Noon in the City by Yongyu Chen
the sun: a wasted red, in a pot of hot metal, the wind, stretched like gluey fizz: somehow, kicking the clouds along I lie breathless on a fat steel bench, cars pass like trickles, my mouth is open and...
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Doorway to Nowhere by Scott Lu
The rotted wooden frame leaned against the trunk With brass hinges rusted through, beckoning No one To cross its pitiful threshold. All I can see is a wretched shade of former glory. In those gilded...
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To My Generation: Words Are Metal by Andrea Bustillo
Like handling eggs, we must manage words with care, and choose them with a keen eye. Be cautious of the tongue, for it has an excess chunk of power. Words can be as comforting as the stuffed bear I’ve...
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Flashing by Scott Lu
The night breeze bites my skin with frost, Just as the heat waves of the day tried to scorch them. Neon lights of hotels and bars Advertising their respective services in green, yellow, pink, and blue....
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A Middle Age Mom’s Response to a Daycare Center’s Shenanigans by KJ Hannah...
Teetering on a stepstool, vying for penultimate, or best position, At the local campus’ daycare center, one chubby baby slipped. The spot nearest her face smiled blood, as did some linoleum. Mama,...
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Dry Feet by Mollie Wohlforth
When the sky fell, and we had to wade knee-deep through the clouds, it meant the world that you offered me a piggy-back ride to keep my toes dry, and that for once, as I clung to my throne upon your...
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Eternally Overcast by Scott Lu
The sky is grey in China. The radio blares a droning voice, And though the weatherman’s forecast predicts sunshine, Monotone fog obscures the light shrouding the day’s lone star in a fatal mist that...
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Postmenopausal Polar Bears by KJ Hannah Greenberg
Postmenopausal polar bears tend to avoid muskegs. Warm environs ill-suit aged mamas inclined toward Flensing dinner. She-bears equipped with ansibles, globally actualize self-importance. The value of...
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Photography in Words by Andrea Bustillo
Indecisive winds ricochet off crisp waves onto trees that sway left and right like Stevie Wonder. The sky bleeds a perpetual hue of blues, accompanied by abstract, white clouds splattered tediously...
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Climactic by Andrea Bustillo
I lay in bed, cuddled up with your expired scent. Beneath layers of tasteless winter wear, your name was stitched on the left of my chest. I squinted at the once- purple, lively lilac bundle you gave...
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