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.
TagPoetry
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 […]
The Funerary Round
My mother goes first, / turning herself into the clock / that stopped right twice each year, / a metronome of albums, candles, and prose; […]
She Doesn’t Look Herself
My grandpa didn’t live past seven / and my grandmother didn’t, either, / so I don’t believe
in that pseudoscience anymore. / “Cells die and are replaced every seven years” / feels a lot like a way / to diminish death. […]
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 […]
Self-Portrait as a Bleaching Cream
I am the apartheid in a tube.
minting money off your reservoir of melanin, blithe bleach like bullets until you slow-bleed brown.
Or quieter – like a virus
infecting Indian society’s opinion until they believe they are hostages of their own skin. […]
“Civil Disobedience” By Sagorika Haque
in meek tribute to those martyred for সত্য, স্বাধীনতা, এবং মুক্ত মন; truth, liberty, and the free mind […]
“Mingus Mingus” By Francois Peloquin
The man leading
the blonde through the bar
by the small of her back,
the one humming
Paper Moon soft in her left ear,
he’s a madman […]
“Sappho” By Jaime Silverthorn
Sappho, under your coarse feet / the pricking splinters bite […]