You must wear your rue with a difference

By Marisca Pichette in Issue Sixteen, July 2024

she makes a pond
in petals pluck’d (forget-me-)
planted in the upturn’d dirt
of graves.

her arms all dark,
disinterred bone dust (dancing girls)
her lungs weigh’d down
with growing things.

Ever Noir

By Mari Ness in Issue Sixteen, July 2024

They slink in, hats drawn
low against their faces.
                                        I hear
                    you find things out. I hear
                    you're willing to do things
                    for cold hard cash. I hear
                    you know something of poisons.


By H.B. Asari in Issue Sixteen, July 2024

We start first with the honeycombs
as babies, slipping whole past
our gummy mouths and tiny throats.
The sepsis is our insides preparing us
for the life ahead.


By Eva Papasoulioti in Issue Sixteen, July 2024

We mooned our heart in orbit,
illuminated our paths with orchids
blooming in the dark, fertilized
with the fate of our star. If the sun
were the source of all life, our moon is
its soul, a new world curled around the old,
words of protection, a silver shine
of direction.

They Named Me Diana

By Emmie Christie in Issue Fifteen, May 2024

They named me Diana,
they vilify me on their news reports,
they say that I’m insane, a category five
of wind and spinning rain, and they’re right

The Saint of Nothing at All

By Jess Gofton in Issue Fifteen, May 2024

I am a vertebra crowning
Sevilla’s ghoulish horde.
Ribs on a chandelier
in Prague. Ten fingers
twitching in ten churches.


By Elizabeth Shack in Issue Fifteen, May 2024

The swirling colors of space and time
float by the windows of the generation ship,
a whole city—planet—galaxy unto itself
soaring past aeons of stars

the rage of the old river

By Sofia Ezdina in Issue Fifteen, May 2024

She uncovered her voice from her bed,
loaded the verbs,
stirred up the interjections’ beehive;
she gathered the air in her lungs

no one can kiss you wrong if you're dead

By Temidayo Okun in Issue Fourteen, March 2024

i drew a smiley face on a blank page & gave it legs / there is no wind strong enough to destroy something that only exists on paper / there is no hurt powerful enough to tear

apart this cage I call a body / i have made this shell for you with my hands / & maybe death only comes when our souls outgrow our bodies / like hermit crabs — we drop


By Abdulkareem Abdulkareem in Issue Fourteen, March 2024

do not forget to drag your feet, my darling,
for the road is long and the trees cannot protect you here
and though their hands may urge you forward
look behind,