• Online Feature, Poetry
    Gabrielle Bates

    The angel in my eyes
    named Loss, delights

    Online Feature, Poetry
    Gabrielle Bates

    Loneliness is a real wound
    left by a false weapon

    Nonfiction
    Jóhanna Gísladóttir Bissat

    I'm on the way, always on the way (from the sea)

    To tell you how much I love you.

    Fiction
    Daniela Garvue

    When the mail comes, I date it and open it to make sure no bombs or anthrax reach the abortion providers.

    Craft Lecture
    Sidik Fofana

    The issues don’t stop once you’re published. Publishing a book forces you to reckon with yourself in a way that few professional feats do. It makes you ask, “Who am I and what are my intentions?”

    Poetry
    Kyle Okeke

    Eucalyptus,
    window. Filtered
    water for the vase
    for the flowers.

    Fiction
    Ariel Katz

    In those dropout days when I had nothing left to worship, I worshipped Cora.

    Review
    Hannah Bonner

    The critic is a fleshy, unruly human who possesses biases, influences, histories, and scars that smear the seemingly crystal-clear lens of removal.

    Poetry
    Mary Helen Callier

    They slid their hands into your mouth,
    a horseless bit.

    Fiction
    Isaac Bashevis Singer translated by David Stromberg

    As soon as someone who’s alone can feel the touch of two hands—that’s when everything has to be reconsidered—all of science, all philosophy, all psychology.

    Fiction
    Jean Chen Ho

    Life goes on, unceasing beauty, unceasing terror, everything in between, testing the limits of your longing. In that era, I felt as if I were floating forever toward infinity or nothingness.

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