Sargassum / Sargazo
By Ana Portnoy BrimmerThere’s so much to be learned from that which floats A patience
from the Gulf of Mexico to a sea of its name sargassum
drifts hand in hand with itself
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Sexualwissenschaft
By Miller ObermanPreposition, before location. An indeclinable
word or particle. Indeclinable. That which
cannot be turned aside or shunned. Inevitable,
un-deviating. I practice a kind
of time travel. Bringing beside me
ancestors I never knew existed before,
beneath, under, towards. This travel
unimpacted by time, space or death.
Training Wheels
By Joanna Acevedo“I just wanted to check in with you about your friend who passed,” my therapist says at the end of our session. “Yeah, he’s still dead,” I quip. We share a long laugh.
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WALKING ON WATER
By emet ezelli bought her a shitty ass chicken sandwich.
$18.59 and dripping with oil—
my grandmother. she blessed
the meal for ten minutes before
taking a bite. poured out devotion like
gasoline. like pepsi cola. we knew then
that she was dying, but i lived
in the first paragraph, unprepared.
Patients
By Aurora Levins MoralesWhy do they call us "the patient"
We are not patient. We endure.
Ode to Jacob Blinder
By Janlori GoldmanHis face stared out into the living room
of my grandparents’ walk-up on E. 13th.
After they died my father hung him
89 Lines on a Bruise
By Shira ErlichmanThe Former Poet Laureate of the United States
wrote an eighty-nine line poem about clouds & I
want to write about clouds but all I can see
is this bruise on the inside of my inner-elbow the needle left
when posing a question about my toxicity level.
Miracle
By Elana BellWhat else to call the way the bare branches
I’d bought at the neighborhood bodega
came back to life that winter.
Onomástico
By Jonathan MendozaYou ask me for my name,
and I say, “It’s pronounced Mendoza,”
and again, the Spaniard spits it out my throat,
pats me on the tongue,
tells me I have been a good subject,
and again, I have traded this empire
for my former one.
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In a Thicket of Body-Bent Grass
By Jessica JacobsArkansas is aspic with last-gasp summer, making running
like tunneling: the trail’s air a gelatin
of trapped trajectories.