Syrup
Where I live
Ants find any sweetness.
Three Poems by Sequoia LeBreux
Making the Centipede a Perfect Morning
by Rushi Vyas
after Colin Walker and Haley Heynderickx
It is not about the sex.
It’s about the morning light
funneling through the window’s sheer
white drapes onto the many-legged and red
centipede who claims the wallContinue Reading
Cross to Bear–Poems by Afieya Kipp
mon objet
I do not want to rinse you off me. I do not want to go. This war in me speaks loudest at night—as if all at once, the yin tide, pink, lush, and like a lather—your love salve—I take in with the largest mouthfuls from the most beautiful silver spoon…As it turns out, once my organs are satiated from the swell brought of the raw honey well, everything shifts into perspective where white wine has clotted to a bubble at the bottom of glasses where sunlight turns half your body to gold, begging to be licked
A Poem to Multiple Men–Poems by Caitlin Scarano
by Caitlin Scarano
A Poem to Multiple Men
Who made and mended my wrists
of wire. Copper conductors of heat
and electricity. Think of the synaptic
dance, jaw loose daze as you bend
me over and peer inside. I keep you
around to witness the holes in me
I can never see. In the morning we part
wordless, mired mouths, semen on my chest,
the sun rapping against my window
like a chipper neighbor in need of sugar.
I learned the price of loving
a place more than a person: that’s how
I lost one. Were we ever happy? I wrote
and then stomped through each creekbed
between our bodies with kneehigh
galoshes. Most days I take a girl
for a mask. I hide my teeth behind
my hair and pretend to love snow. Give me
the boy with the belly of an ox, give me
one like a child’s tower of blocks
that I can knock down and rebuild
until the game tires of us. I hope you find
someone who loves you. I was never the girl
next door, I was the one cackling beneath
the radiator, bruising herself behind
the eyes. Chasing the moonsure,
the white dog, the man who left me
with a tongue of coal dust.
He’s really no different than the boy
I made into jigsaw and kissed in the rain
until one of us bled.
Roses Too Bloom–Poems by Emma Erickson
by Emma Erickson
roses too bloom
I hear babies grow
I hope mine doesn’t
I’d keep my truth warm
but in the shade dark
maybe purple it reminds
me of coloring when you
wipe your dripping nose
with your wrist and leave
it shining in crooked light
where did the clouds go
here in between yellows
When the splash of your mind awoke me–Poems by Eileen Murphy
