Eohippus
By féi hernandezSimultaneously I am
alone and crowded, this…
the pulsing wound of being extinct,
whole
enough for a morning forage,
yet scant for the onlookers
of lineage,
of nation,
myths in the mulberry tree.
Search Results
The Committed
By Hazem FahmyWhen I say “a Free Palestine in our lifetime” I mean it
is your moral duty to believe the last shekel has already been printed,
its destiny a glass frame in a museum next to a dollar,
Body Under Another’s Tradition
By Aliah Lavonne TighEveryone in Anatomy pairs up,
receives a small baby pig.
The scalpel shines like water or a mirror—if you look, you see
yourself: gloved hand pushing a blade to open
the other animal’s chest. Someone drops
a knife, shouts,
Clean it up. This is how we learn to
dissect a body.
ode to the hare
By Mandy ShunnarahWe might have told them, if they’d asked,
the poppies wouldn’t make it to their melancholy
island, no matter how swift their sails snapped
across the sea. Then again, we love our land more
than they love theirs; we long to return, not flee.
That’s why you don’t see us boarding clippers
to claim to ground not ours. With our bountiful
fertile crescent, who needs more plenty?
Performativity
By Kat AbdallahMy teachers ask me
after seven months of genocide
if I’m holding up alright.
Form & Occasion
By Issam ZinehThe grammarians are up
in arms, and the war over
the semicolon has been reignited.
Today, the legislator notes his preference
for certain kinds of killers. Those,
one might say, with a European sensibility.
What the Fish Say / Over There
By A.D. Lauren-AbunassarMy godson wanted to go look at fish but I told him, today, beauty is canceled. We cried. I felt bad. I counted the unbeautiful like broken ribs. Shrapnel in the olive tree. Child-sized tourniquet. Saint Porphyrius’ watching and weeping. My father phones to tell me they’re down to vinegar; they pour into open wounds.
Shahrazad, circa 2024
By Aiya SakrOn the day of the first flour massacre,
nothing I have ever said has been untrue.
Fourteen thousand and three hundred white
PVC flags flutter in the early spring morning.
By the time I cross the lawn, the IDF have killed
another child, and another flag springs up
Like a poppy.
This simile is too easy.
Portal: Cyclical
By leena aboutalebThe genesis of this story is. A person on fire. My father drives us to my brother’s grave and I begin to cry seeing a mole trying to cross the heavied street, flush with human monstrosity. Bloomberg announces empire war supply and demand 1% increase chips SpaceX government approach dig tunnels over a century potential military tool big line of business. On the way to the graveyard, I tell my father we have no right. This country was a mistake.
When I am asked How Are You?? during the genocide of my people
By Janine Mogannam“I’m
pretty awful, all things considered. A few weeks ago
I couldn’t eat anything and now I’m constantly starving.
I know that’s a terrible thing to say.
I think my house plants might be dying but I’m not really sure?
They’re sad and limp-necked. I guess that’s a metaphor.