Because She Thinks She Is Going To Hell
By Theresa Davishoney
you are not being judged
because your bones decided
Search Results
Postmark from the Transition
By Rachel M. Simonthe name altered from parent's choosing
the threshold of a home
white gloves on the windowsill
Margins
By Heather HolligerShe and I, our silences,
hesitations--at the grocery store,
in the taxi, on the street.
Skintight
By Stephen ZeranceMy father hands me gifts he bought Christmas Eve:
an extra-large broadcloth and thirty-four waist khakis.
I dress different from the boys at school. My shirts fall
Uncivil
By Venus ThrashI am wearing a white tux with tails,
or a baby blue one with a ruffly shirt,
or decked out in classic black, or coolly
University Kiss in a Time of War
By Melissa TuckeyTwo slight young women--
the smaller one
reaches for hands
Charlie Howard’s Descent
By Mark DotyBetween the bridge and the river
he falls through
a huge portion of night
Torso
By Francisco AragónDespite the absent head (whose eyes
were the green of apples)
IV. Wheel Spinning
By Natalie IllumThe first time I saw these activists turned
acrobats, I was immobilized as they arched
through hoops, twisting like DNA.
from Nights of 1990
By Richard McCannWhat I could not accept was how much space
his body was taking with it: for instance, the space where
I was standing, the dazed fluorescence of his hospital room