Issue 24 - Spring 2022
By Eve Miller
EVERY THING YOU NEVER HAD
BY: DALANIE BEACH
When the ceiling creaks at night, picture your oldest daughter pacing above you— her restless feet tracing patterns in the carpet. Imagine throwing off the covers, hurtling up the stairs, and putting an end to the entropy.
Lie still. Remind yourself she no longer lives here.
If grief spreads its wings in your chest, banish it. Turn your back on the cold stretch of bed where her father once slept. Wrap the blankets tight and curl into the dark.
Issue 21 - 2020/2021
By: Amber Fair
I Seek a Home
By Savannah Shepard
A response to Tracy K. Smith’s “The United States Welcomes You.”
I was sent by the power of violence, poverty, oppression.
There is nothing that I wish to steal from you.
I dance because my mother danced, as her mother did before her.
And though my dark body looks different from yours,
I am also a person, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a human.
I demand nothing but your understanding