“One of us remembers the honeyed ink / in the waiting womb…”
FICTION | NONFICTION | POETRY |
TRANSLATION
SUBMIT STORE DONATE OPPORTUNITIES INTERVIEWS WRITERS WE PUBLISH
“One of us remembers the honeyed ink / in the waiting womb…”
“I’d hear this man’s footsteps above me when in bed, trying to trap the sound of his feet with my eyes…”
“for her daughters to release her / into the river of her choosing”
“…I can see it’s a black, shrunken stick about ten feet high, stripped of the bark I once ran my fingers over.”
“Growing humidity is concealed behind a trapdoor of secrets.”
“At its core, the madness memoir is an effort to impose a literary structure on an inherently disorganized condition.”
“I remember the sun was high in the sky and the clearing held a holy quiet, like no human feet had ever marred its face. So, of course I followed.”
Honors undergraduate writers and graduate students pursuing writing careers
“…my parents’ divorce agreement, a tarot deck, an armadillo that sang a funny song when you squeezed its belly…”
“He’s not unreasonable, he tells me. But he’s genuinely alarmed by the extent of the first-round edits.”
“The sky peels back like a tinfoil lid and something putrid creeps in...”
“…that eager, / kicking foot. There’s nothing in me now”
“Forgive or condem / (whatever man), but to go back is to run”
“To sew a jacket, one must first imagine it fragmented.”
“always save the marriage / i want to be saved too”
“Everything was ours, our reality untamed by time and misogyny, and the price we’d pay for living remained alien to us.”
“If ever a saint could be described as not giving any fucks, it would be her.”
“John Lennon is singing I’m So Tired. / I know you’re tired. As you burn in this Brooklyn kitchen,”
