Summer Figs
By Ina Cariñowhen I turn seventy & you are gone,
will my muscles still heft with ease
a crate of summer figs---one
bruised fig for every year of my life---
from the tree in your backyard?
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Of Beauty
By Tala KhanmalekOn a table in the corner of Lollipop Shoppe, I face the crowd and dance. I look toward a circle of new friends by the bar. Most of us just met six days ago yet we share, I think, the sole familiar between strangers: brutality. I listen with my hands. Arms overhead, conjuring.
All of This Is Ours
By Jimena LuceroI go out in public &
cis people tell me I risk my visible self too much.
But I think I’m just co-existing.
Earth practices liberation.
This is how I’ve led my body.
Naturally, I am bold!
What Good Is Heaven
By Raye Hendrixwhen my mother dreamed of children she pictured
things in bowls beautiful fish gracing over
brightly colored stones clear water a bowl of her favorite
fruits ceramic overflowing pears and tangerines
blueberries fat with sweet
Washateria Blues
By Farrah FangIn Houston they don’t really call it a laundromat
It’s a washateria or la lavandería
Today you go to the one on Airline and Tidwell
The chronic pain and weakness in your body
Makes it difficult to relocate canastos of clothes
From home to your car, to the washateria, to inside the machine
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Chasing Helicopters on the Way Home from a Bowl of Spaghetti
By Robin GowSomeone I love is turning into an asterisk
and so I am running and the vultures are
as hungry as they’ve ever been. The size of genders.
The size of fatherhoods.
Training Wheels
By Joanna Acevedo“I just wanted to check in with you about your friend who passed,” my therapist says at the end of our session. “Yeah, he’s still dead,” I quip. We share a long laugh.
Alias
By ChrysanthemumScheduling a follow-up with my PCP, I prepare
for disaster. Inevitable as flood, I hush a moniker
kept in confidence, wager my informed consent
for a Hancock granting passage. Gates are flimsy
metaphors. It’s more of a worn-down levee, dike
ready to burst without notice.
Becky Declines Barbie’s Dinner Invitation
By Johnson CheuI should have figured as much.
After all, it took over thirty years
to realize Barbie’s Malibu
convertible isn’t accident-proof.
Since the pandemic is over
By Khadijah QueenLet’s skip past the facts, uncounted
deaths, pretend the seas of free faces soothe &
vaccines can protect us, you, me, my loves, stuck home
since early 2020, but I saw the slide
happening sooner, got sick mid-fall
2019 on the plane home from London, locked myself in
my cold bedroom so no one else would suffer,
held my sick breath under blankets &
heated ginger & honey & lemon & garlic &
clove & cayenne concoctions on the stove for six days.
Recovery took the rest of October & November too
but I kept my family well & since the pandemic is
over, I’m often the only masked one
left in any room