Category Archives: Reprint

Gateway

Everything of that culture, laid across a fantasy gateway, imagined color amid a sea of monochrome. Fog condenses, heavy in sorrow, saturating tracks laid by missing fathers. Paper lanterns glow, recalling dynamite that turned letters to home into ash. Pacific … Continue reading

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eight

for breakfast, peach flesh             slick and yellow— spoken over,                         blanched. butterknife dreams             love bites across             plump curves                         —she never said no. eight peaches, lucky. pits torn up,             gone out, rolling heads and tails;                         probability, ever             retrospective. for breakfast, thoughts             and … Continue reading

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when we lose control of our tongues…

This is a reprint of work originally published in Kissing Dynamite. Laleh Gupta (she/her) is a sixteen-year-old student from Maharashtra, India. An editor-in-chief of Indigo Literary Journal, her work appears or is forthcoming in Claw & Blossom, The Cabinet of … Continue reading

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The Seed

Sally was cooking dinner in the kitchen. Outside, little Janie was crying. She was screaming something about that midget. Kyle was in the living room watching television: a woman being chased down a San Francisco street. “Go out there and … Continue reading

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Late Developers

In the last few weeks of her life, I caught him peeing in the sink. I came through the back door, as all of us always did, via the porch with its fly papers and window ledges and stands chock-full … Continue reading

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Paper Animals

It was the last day. At the beginning, I had found myself counting the days. We had arrived here in the heart of winter. The little village was located up in the mountains, a place so untouched by globalisation it … Continue reading

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Nails

Ten. My mother pulled my fingertips into the light, the ragged bloody edges and hangnails all on trial. “A proper lady should have pretty hands,” she said. Neither proper nor pretty, I guessed myself a heathen, a muddy girl spitting … Continue reading

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Redemption

How we remember, what we remember, and why we remember form the most personal map of our individuality. —Christina Baldwin Forgive me Father, but I am not a dying age. Not a lopsided heart cage you pretend to enter. Where … Continue reading

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Two In The Bush

A bird in hand is worth two in the bush A bush in hand is worth a chair And a chair is worth a hack and a push To plant it a house new and fair So they sang, the … Continue reading

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Waves

Today I become liquid noise, and my wet coughs catch on the wetness outside of me. It is tangible; it is disconcerting— The warm slow movements of my body work in tandem with the current, with your hands that fill … Continue reading

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12 Trees

In the SoCal suburb where we lived for four years in a hundred-year-old house with a bedroom and a half, with a fruit cellar, the trees were always in bloom— a different tree, it seemed, every month. So I had … Continue reading

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Waking Poem

There is one image of our heads together and I cut them off in the morning, dragging our severed gaping mouths behind me. I start writing my notes in blood and I want to stop writing these poems. I can’t … Continue reading

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A Rut, or Cutting You Out

Today the sun does not rise. Today nothing rises but me, to the window and back like a dull knife wearing away the carpet in hope that it will split open to reveal something. With my luck, it would reveal … Continue reading

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The Floor Plan

is missing. I pass through the rooms like anyone else would who felt like they’d been here before: hastily, looking for clues. This room has your eyes and they are unblinking. My father is in the corner eating his own … Continue reading

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Half-Skull Days

Last week, it rained six days straight, not for six days straight, as it can back home in the Midwest, but on six consecutive days. In the eighteen months we have lived in Southern California we have not experienced more … Continue reading

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Spoiler Alert

There’s no escaping the constant whirs, hums, chugs and buzzes of summer, like birdsong, in variety and nuance, but less conversation, more dictation, as if to an old-fashioned stenographer – get this down, condense the languorous signals of summer to … Continue reading

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Of Gasping and Grasping

I saw a cross in the sky was that Jesus Christ or pollution I think it’s starting to tear all the fabric of autumn has loosened You scried the depths of the pool came up wild-eyed with spells of reflection … Continue reading

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German Punctuality

I was the last one on what I thought was the right bus. I asked the driver to make sure. He said something that in English sounded like “crossing.” The only problem was he was speaking German, and I’d just taken up the language. … Continue reading

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Glass

And next week I’ll ask you the same question again even though you told me last week not to always ask when you’d be home because you just don’t know. What I said was we wanted to know if you’d … Continue reading

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Condensation

Raindrops splatter randomly on downtown towers’ roofs, forging spider-spoke alliances on top of Miami. You and I tiptoe the edges, open across Biscayne Bay clear down to Brickell. We’re stormier than daily rains bathing summer afternoons, chillier than scowling winds … Continue reading

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The Green Bike

Angela liked Friday evenings best, for that was when the man with the green bike came by the house. He always brought her a bar of Hershey’s Cookies ‘n’ Creme, breaking off half and handing it to her ceremonially before … Continue reading

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Chai Latte

for Lent “Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near? Just like me, they long to be close to you.” – Carpenters Barren terraces peek out from behind light filtering through windows. Mirrored solace and once-verdurous neighbours, whence … Continue reading

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Grandfather Reached Up To Touch The Ground

Measured time by the ton. Knew men only by their shadows. Lived with a darkness that left a taste in his mouth. Thunder even trains that rolled through his nights sat him up screaming. He sang to the rhythm of … Continue reading

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New World in the Waiting

Each night is mundane and lonely. Night-birds spread their wings. The moment I’m looking for is buried beneath the black soil. Each wound I polish on the secret stone shines in false light: there is nostalgia too. When the lizards … Continue reading

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Newspaper Planes

Do you believe in God? he asks. I swat away a horsefly but it keeps trying to fly through my ear canal. A pause, a realizing that the question is too big for the park. Looking for an answer in … Continue reading

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