I changed my name Here

Poem by Rehema Ivan Art by Karen Zhang Two names live on my tongue  resting, twirling, clashing  Both call. Speak one.  Swallow the Other. Let her pierce my mouth as I draw lips closed– Let me smile at you, red running down my chin– Let me not cry bringing you and me together; Nor sigh,

an elegy to gold

Poem by Grace Payne Art by Athena Li I met you in the summer heat— forever fated fever dream. still with your love, I turn water to steam slowly you seep into every rivet  trailing my lips for a fine sweet minute the most sugary maple tree could never compare to thee such pleasure to

Love is (unapologetically) love

Sonnet by Sally Elhennawy Art by Luiza Ortiz If I could show the world my love for you,I’d speak my truth a hundred thousand times.My wary heart would start to love anewAnd our passions would constitute no crimes.If our tale of love was acceptable,I’d sweep you away in the city streets;We would no longer be

Come and See

Poem by Luka Poljak Art by Aiza Bragg Come and See Content Warning: Mentions of war, genocide, violent imagery, and animal cruelty A boy and girl starving in a butchered village Digging up anything so he can Feed me. Feed me.  The mutilated house they find with wooden hard hands Their tongues molest an empty

Postcard from Vancouver to Home

Poem by Rachel Helwig-Henseleit Art by Amy Ng Vancouver is turning my skin porcelain.There is sun here—between the rain spellsbut, I spend most of my time at home. Outside, the wind blows through holesin my sweater—it’s a kind ofintimacy, like the city itself is holding me. Honestly, I miss your hugs the most.

In Variation

Poem by Dax Avery Hamouth Art by Amy Ng in twists and knotsthe willow treebirthsa sighstretched out into eternity: biological processesmimicked overandover,named Miracle,dressed in red twine bindings, and cell tide mindings; fingers crossingcaught boundin incorrection to one letter wrong skin stretches overmuscle and fat:canvas over easel wood– am Ipainted wrong?  details of my geometryclashing with tastesof different

at the bus stop, a tired boy speaks to death

Poem by Kayla Wilford Art by Karen Zhang the boy is barely a man, black clothes veiling frail bonesand a victorian disposition under moonlight and mist.he sits on a sad corner street under neon lightand butchers meat and wonders where to go. but the concrete is cold, frozen feet tucked underthe dim gold of bus

The Bazaar of Disclosure

If you tell me why you always ring the Hornet hive doorbell / and wait with a spoon thinking it’s a honey hive, thinking / the amber inhabitants will remind you to wipe your feet on the welcome / mat before letting you swallow and scoop honey soup and larvae lava, / I’ll tell you why I stood Swan-Lake-point-toed […]

an ode to the world

the girl with the black rimmed glasses and red leather skirt waves at me. it is a ritual done every friday at approximately nine forty-five in the morning when the children have filled their cubby holes and business men with pinstripe suits have been seated […]