
Poetry from Jayant Kashyap
Photo: David Monje We only seek the blessings of those we love. Catacombs, Paris When our lovers died, we gave them a piece of land, a cloth, a kiss, and prayer beads. So god would be kinder. And warmer when the snow touched them coldly. When it didn’t work, we took them elsewhere in night- […]

Poetry from J.I. Kleinberg
Emily embodies . . J.I. Kleinberg’s visual poems have been published worldwide in print and online journals, including Atlas & Alice. An artist, poet, freelance writer, and three-time Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, she lives in Bellingham, Washington, USA, and on Instagram @jikleinberg. Her solo exhibit of visual poems, orchestrated light, was featured […]

Poetry from Dmitry Blizniuk
Photo: Tyler Lastovich Death Is a Simple Thing Here, in the countryside, death is simple and unpretentious. It goes without makeup, and a chipped log rattles under a dented axe. This low, big-boned tree stump (be careful, watch your step) is a guillotine for chickens. Feathers and down are stuck in the notches in the […]

Nonfiction from Akshita Krishnan
Photo: Abhishek Chadha chellame, chellame Author’s note: Inspired by the tradition of the akam, or Tamil love poetry since the 1st century BCE, this lyric essay pays homage to the South Asian custom of having one’s hair oiled by a maternal figure. chellame: noun; a term of endearment (familial and romantic) in the tamil language […]

Fiction from Cayce Osborne
Photo: Natalie Runnerstrom The Scientist’s Daughter Stage I: Gestation When the scientist learns she is pregnant, she tells no one. Her body begins to change. When the pregnancy becomes obvious, colleagues avoid her and do not offer congratulations. For a working scientist, a baby is a liability. She is proving true every unkind thought they’ve […]

Poetry from Alex Starr
Photo: Victor Furtuna Bled If a galaxy retains a memory of the universe then by extension so too the rind of a cocoa bean the steam that curlicues up from a rooibos ocean stitches sewed in hem of summer dress so too the haphazard ridges in tree trunks the hull of a ship so too […]

Poetry from Justin Lacour
Photo: Jeffrey Hamilton Sunday, 9:35 a.m. The washed-out light in the forest. Color of a hangover. There’s an oak tree by the pond, goldenrod and broken glass. A woman like the sun, crying. . . Justin Lacour lives in New Orleans and edits Trampoline: A Journal of Poetry. He is the author of three chapbooks, […]