Issue 25 | Fall 2021

Rebirth

Tamiko Dooley

You pulled a violet crown-of-thorns out of the sea in Okinawa

Laid her on the edge of the lulling boat

Your gold molars glinting in the blistering afternoon

With a wooden skewer you were pricking the starfish

Cutting down her scarlet spines

They grew back as quickly as you poked them out

When your laugh roared across the soundless Pacific

Down your throat, I glimpsed cruelty cling like seaweed

That wraps around the calves and pulls you under

I swam to shore without looking back

With each stroke away from you a bristle returned

About the Author

Tamiko Dooley is a half-Japanese mother of two. She read Latin and French at New College, Oxford. When there’s no pandemic, she’s hired as a wedding pianist from time to time.

Issue 25 Cover

Prose

Bomarzo Cecilia Pavón, translated by Jacob Steinberg

Sister in Basement, Manny Again Elsewhere Robert Lopez

Visitations Caroline Fernelius

Solution Linda Morales Caballero, translated by Marko Miletich, PhD

Auditions for Interference Theory Emilee Prado

Life Stories Robert(a) Ruisza Marshall

Out There Daryll Delgado

The Embassy Khalil AbuSharekh

Shaky From Malnutrition Mercury-Marvin Sunderland

Weatherman Gillian Parrish

The Taco Robbers From Last Week Steve Bargdill

 

Poetry

Epigenetics Diti Ronen, translated by Joanna Chen

i once was a witch Kiik Araki-Kawaguchi

Thralls Kevin McIlvoy

Mine Brian Henry
Catastrophic

marble chunk Shin Yu Pai
shelf life

Rebirth Tamiko Dooley

Before the Jazz Ends Adhimas Prasetyo, translated by Liswindio Apendicaesar
After Jazz Ends
Scent of Wood

 

Cover Art

Untitled Despy Boutris

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