March 2, 2018

Cataract

A shower is essentially a cleansing ritual. 

Replace the salt with foaming body wash

the blessed candles with flickering fluorescents

behind the yellowing curtain is a sacred act

a reclaiming

a reckoning

insert here that fact about all the cells in your body being re...

February 22, 2018

PRETTY HURTS 

Pretty petaled roses, 

Soft like a dream. 

Wafting a sickly, sweet high,

A wearable drug. 

Plastic and shiny, 

Malibu barbie, 

Legs for days

and a face like a dame. 

Pretty hurts and the world makes my eyes bleed. 

Magazines are torture devices,

Models are mannequin...

February 22, 2018

rosé 

i examine the red stain on the sheets once more – shaped like a grapefruit, or like a

woman swallowed by the depths of a voice so ungodly i have no doubt it must’ve been

the wine. all of the evidence is here: its smell takes me back to the night i could almost

make s...

February 22, 2018

Shiny Happy People


after Grey’s Anatomy S6E22

You were you, you were steadfast in

the way you kept your feelings rippling

at the surface, how my eyebrows

How when you felt a feeling, I let you,
instead of clamoring back up, for a reason,
we become a thing together, if we b...

February 22, 2018

ARIES

if you let your nails grow long enough, eventually they will curl like ram’s horns/i tap dead

proteins against the mahogany coffee table again while you tell me how to take care of myself/

tell me what i should and shouldn’t shave/what i should and shouldn’t say

i st...

February 12, 2018

Man screams in a dark theater

in a dark theater

a man 

puts his hand

on my knee

on my thigh

I gently

cover his hand with mine

and snap his fingers back

until they crack

the apology

so sorry

said he

to her

as if

he could

return

what he

had taken

out of

her life

Elizabeth Moura lives in a co...

February 7, 2018

Art by Collin Beck

A Village of Friendly Shadows

Your coffee cup sits empty—an unwritten manifesto of earthenware

and concavity. There’s so much I still don’t know, can only guess at.

The undiagnosed illness of picture-taking, leading yourself around by

the nylon of a short...

February 7, 2018

Art by Collin Beck

She Tossed Her Head

She tossed her head, and I fell in love—

it was that muscle at the side of her neck, 

her sternocleidomastoid 

like a skein of silk from jaw to collarbone,

gracefully moving just below the surface of her skin 

when she tilted her head, o...

February 5, 2018

Art by Collin Beck

Statue in a Corridor

I spent the day on a chair,

hands tucked like wings

between my legs.

Hair thrumming a wire call

across the looping hallway.

I was folded, 

grounded,

salt frosting the lip of my shoe. 

Waiting for a tongue to lick it clean. 

Amateur Gardener...

January 29, 2018

Art by Valerie Chamberlain

Bedside Manner

Old magazines filled with

nothing. What a waste.

The bed with the paper

bitches about flesh and

leakage and how they all

beg for the gift-wrapped

fiction of their bodies,

for someone to tie it up

nicely with ornamental

knot, to figure it...

January 19, 2018

 Art by Valerie Chamberlain

The Privilege of Right Mind

My phone emits a pleasant chime

     a daily reminder to take my pill

No longer do I flail against the label

     prime candidate for lifetime medication

I learned there are far worse things

     than...

January 19, 2018

Art by Valerie Chamberlain

the end of the rainbow

i have not reached the end of the rainbow

where black women will be allowed to


be so unapologetic that it shakes the earth

that it disrupts the disorder of things

our petals are constantly plucked


our flesh is discarded or t...

January 8, 2018

Art by Valerie Chamberlain 

Period Poem

i call you a drama queen 

'cause you yelled

you're bleeding

when i was absorbed in reading a book 

on the bed

i say you only care about your mattress

which isn't really fair

'cause you're better

at handling my period

than i am 

i can't even...

January 8, 2018

If grief is another country, Jennifer Hudgen’s poems navigate that terrain like a native.  Her chapbook from the ever amazing Blood Pudding Press, is a carnivalesque romp through loss using the often sharp edges of memory, keen insight and a healthy dose of rage at wha...

January 2, 2018

When We Could Still See the Stars

When we could still see the stars

The focus & center of our gravity was higher 

Than ourselves.

Ancient peoples looked up--

So much that they ordered constellations,

Gods, legends, lore, creation stories.

If the Star of Bethlehem shone tonigh...

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