Donna Vorreyer Boundaries A squeal rises from the garden: a rabbit caught on a wire fence while seeking a cluster of greens, the soft church of her body trembling as she churns her legs to wrench them free.…
Sara Wallace The Perfect Stage — “Be the Least in the Household of God,” Francis of Paola Come and watch me screw up, my son said. So, I went to his school’s concert but the music teacher put him…
Katie Naoum Mud Season The edges of the day thaw too quickly, become sharp, jagged, like my children’s drawings or their cries. My children. They are so very young, so beautiful and difficult. There are moments when new phrases…
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor The Grand Days of Noho Star for Kathy Engel Dear Kathy I miss our poetry brunches at Noho Star our talks on MFA programs children spouses mothers finances manuscripts submission guidelines— I miss our San Pellegrino flat radish…
Caitlin Grace McDonnell BAD MOMS I always cry on airplanes. Thought it was the movies. But when I cried at Bad Moms, I wondered if it was the booze. Tiny bottle of Titos and Mr.& Mrs. T. Or maybe…
Laura Johanna Braverman FULL MOON AND GALLOWAYS The farmer shows me a hollowing-in by the iliac crest, skin taut from the weight of the calf. ‘Soon –’ she says, ‘Next week is Vollmond.’ She brings out a box: puncher…
Brenda Cárdenas WHAT A MOLCAJETE HOLDS Despite my drawers full of knives and spoons, cutting boards, spatulas, ceramic ramekins, when I blend spices, I must place them in her molcajete, press the three-generation pestle against cloves to shatter…
Aimee Suzara First Ultrasound of a Trickster What did you sound like, that first time? A flutter: the wings of a furious butterfly, thrum of a colibrí. Twice my heart’s speed, yours. A life-force undeniable. A wild new fish…
Diannely Antigua ORCHARD REVISITED for Andrés In the beginning, there was no word. So I called him baby apple, conceived in September. I fell in love with the seed, as if it were my own, so happy I would…
Erin Armstrong THE WEIGHT OF BODIES My grandmother cared and carried the weight of bodies. Her ghost stands in the street to speak of bodies. Her ghost stands in the street to speak to bodies. I dug a hole…
Sara Ries Dziekonski INVISIBLE My son has swallowed the potion that makes him invisible I scan the room say Where’s Teddy? Where’s my gooooobs? When he’s ready to bring himself back he giggles shouts Boo— my mother is invisible…
Lindsay Kellar-Madsen MILK & MARROW Moon-milk pooled from my body then— wet cushions and capillaries wicked. You refused sleep upstairs, so we stayed— tucked under the yolk- yellow streetlights. A proto-planet of beginnings, we were banished blankets sleeping and…