ISSUE 07
Steve Evans. Oteeyho Iro. Charles Haddox. Zama Madinana. Taylor Graham. Natalie Harris-Spencer. Jason Lobell. Maggie Yang. Aaron Weinzapfel. Meredith Wadley. Asma Al-Masyabi. Linda Neal. Shilo Niziolek. David A. Porter.
10
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Ciara Alfaro's parrot is loose, and he's named his true love Nothing. Now that JeFF Stumpo's antipsychotics have kicked in, he is writing an obituary for the supernatural. Zama Madinana sunbathes his hopes while Chloe Clark watches a piece of the Ariadne crash into the parking lot of the Noah's Ark Waterpark. Andy Tran smokes a cigarette with Mom for the first time. Siobhan Jean-Charles studies the anatomy of a cliche, picking it apart to hear it hum in her hand, so she can give us a poem we haven't seen before. D.W. Davis is up on a ladder, watching us, while Clara Chow teaches us how not to name a girl. Jessica Treadway delivers a blow to the solar plexus. Zachariah Claypole White urges us to dream of belligerent kindness measured against whale's tooth and song. Sanika Phawde is passing along an alert from the state: the water supply is contaminated. Caroline Picker is in Växjö as Runesson snaps his iconic photo of Danuta, "The Woman with the Handbag," while Will Cordeiro hangs out in a field with Tyler, who likes to boost things for kicks—smalltime stuff like candy bars or drugstore sunglasses. Delaney S. Saul does a magic trick, but it's a slow burn: wait for the payoff. Farai Chaka waits, curled in a ball on his bathroom floor. Adrienne Licata introduces us to the candlemaker: will we accept her bargain? Brandon Lopez drives us past forgotten churches with white paint chipped onto the ground below, past towns where what looks like poverty is a simple approach to life—but Paige Blair doesn't go to church anymore. And all the while, Michele Herman is sitting in Paulette Nash's small backyard on Melvin Street, watching us wander, our Dr. Scholl's warm and smooth and loyally rising with our every step to meet our heels.
POETRY
FARAI
CHAKA
"Lake Kariba, 2024"
and other poems
“There, she touches my arm soft; opposite of aftermath.”