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Suzi F. Garcia

Emotional Wasteland

By Suzi F. Garcia It is April now, with its mix of sweet and snow. I stand barefoot on an apartment patio to vape. My toes curl on themselves to fight off the cold and my legs shake under my leggings. I have been drugged officially and unofficially, some would say gone, but I can feel light in my hips as they sway to the song I’m playing in my head.
Moncho Alvarado

Amá Teaches Me How to Whistle

By Moncho Alvarado She said, it's facil, look up, kiss everything,
hold the sun between your mouth,

blow like this * * * * * ****
**** * * * * **** *****

after I told her I was a woman, she wrinkled
the space between us by hugging me.
Ina Cariño

Graveyard Picnic

By Ina Cariño memory of magnolia on lapels. grandfather’s paper
cheeks pale, teeth whiter than frosted hibiscus.

when I visit the mausoleum, I lay a white cloth on his tomb,
mesh of cobwebs stretched across the buds
Judith Arcana

Can Safety Matches Make Us Safe?

By Judith Arcana You read the tiny cardboard book before
you scratch the strip under Augie's New Pizza
on the back of MIA:We still don't know
Ching-In Chen

American Syntax

By Ching-In Chen The teacher straightbacked,
faced me off, her eyes.
My face in the cleave of
her shoulder, my bones