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GASTROPODA

 

Two Poems by McCaela Prentice

HONEYMOON everything smells like honeysuckle at the wedding and I think what it must be to love like leaving a tab open or a thrown...

Brown girl in the circus by Swetha Amit

Those curious eyes. Their scrutiny. The gaze follows me as I walk to my desk. The teacher announces my arrival. The new girl in fifth...

Medusa by Yue Chen

The black iris dribbling down the fencepost. Don’t lie to me—I know you’ve seen it, too, soft moss & wet carpet of autumnal blood. Don’t...

Skin by Alyson Tait

Her skin was gray, hidden among the shallow water and rocks. Its smooth texture slid underneath the grains of sand, swimming with each...

Three Poems by Samari Zysk

the birds, the birds for aster, what i think of around you – wings rushing up in a massive unfolding, reshaping. we all relearn as adults...

O by Wendy Newbury

They appeared in kaleidoscope colors, in the form of Siamese fighting fish, gliding about the room, performing graceful pirouettes. She’d...

Six Lipsticks by Slawka G. Scarso

Avon Berry Nice Your first lipstick is a gloss and tastes of strawberries. The moment you apply it, you start to lick, lick, lick, till...

Birds at the Feeder by Carol Casey

Junco, Cardinal blue, red flitting at the feeder in the swaying, cedar, sombre evergreen winter-clad. They flutter between branches, red,...

Eve by Katie Holloway

The globe of the fruit glistened before her, an orb of promise and potential, of passion, power and something she couldn’t yet name, but...

a thicket of weeds by nat raum

nat raum (b.1996) is a queer disabled artist and writer currently working towards their mfa at the university of baltimore. their work is...

Playing With Sticks by Pete Sheild

All our arbor ancestors arrived long before her house was built. Long before any of these houses were built. We went about our seasons...

Three Poems by A. Rabaduex

after the death of a neighbor kid, I think of Charlotte's Web in morning sun a spider meditates along its lattice next to my bench no...

Un café by Sabina Y. Wong

Today reminds me of my first time. That day, the sky was gray, where strong breezes made my neighbor's tall bushes undulate like we were...

Poissonnier by Stephanie Parent

How much must you scorn yourself To desire to cleave yourself In two And hope someone will notice The new creature you’ve become? Or...

Lying Not Lying by Pat Foran

We’re playing one-on-one in the driveway and my friend says he knows me and I must have had a reason to want the Believe In Music — 22...

Natural Disaster by Nadja Maril

She looked down at her spotted legs and imagined others examining her body when she died. Discarded. Laid out on a lab table or still in...