You won’t believe me, but an angel visits me in my dreams.
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Vertebrae by Jess Masterton
Her bones had been bleached, stripped of all muscles and tendons, and you called me to your side as though I were your own.
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The Madrid Conversations by Normando Hernàndez Gonzalez with Adam Braver and Molly Gessford, Translated By Cynthia Guardado
The simple act of having your rights to liberty and expression, I would say. The simple act of not being scared to say what you are thinking.
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Wheat Simulator By Alexander Metz
But, if you didn’t think about that, didn’t think about the unreality of everything, it was great. I couldn’t have said how long I played Steer Rope, or how many steers I managed to rack up. For me, the whole point was not to think.
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Transmissions from the Baby Monitor by Sarah Gerkensmeyer
“You tell us death, and you tell us pain, and you tell us there are good things, too.”
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Before I Stop by Katie Kalahan
I see a woman running towards me at the farthest edge of the path between Jimi Hendrix and Sam Smith parks. She's light on her feet, but tense, taut, and I feel that she's familiar.
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Two Poems by Marilyn Nelson
In petticoats, ribbons, and ostrich plumes,
with watch chains, snuff boxes, and monocles,
we were enchanted individuals
last night, cinderellas without our brooms.
Fatality on the Tracks by Patrick Hicks
Molten steel fills my ribcage,
my teeth are barbed-wire,
but the killer bees I want to spit
are stuck on the flypaper of my tongue.
A Normal Interview with Will Betke-Brunswick by Sydney Allison Hinton
"People expect mammals to smile and frown, to have expressive eyebrows, and to make certain gestures with their hands, arms, and front legs. Drawing flightless birds frees me from so many expectations and gives me more space to play."
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Eagle Beach by Maxwell Suzuki
There are echoes of a childhood and a boy I can just barely remember. There has been an ache in my stomach for me to return.
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Fairy Tale by Sharmila Voorakkara
“The children stare into space. No one here knows what too much means.”
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Two Poems by Nicole Santalucia
" then woman, not in the way of suffering or resentment, but in the way of queer and of magic. take a fistful of dirt and poof."
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Geography by Tita Ramirez
None of this was ever a problem before, but sitting there looking at that pee stick, it hit me: if I was going to have to explain the world to someone else, it was a huge problem. I had nine months to learn everything. More like eight, really.
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Marie by Eliza Sullivan
Bones tell stories. They hold intangible memories.
Read MoreSelf-Portrait, Fourteen Miles and Twenty-Three Minutes from the Interstate by Daniel Garcia
Of time, there’s this: the pink stripes around the neck in the mirror after, which was the most surprising—as if to mimic the sky was as simple as pulling its color into one’s cheeks.
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A Normal Interview with Katie Ives By Rosie Bates
Climbing can be an enticing pursuit for writing because a climb is a natural story… Basically, anytime you go on a climb, even if it’s just a backyard climb, you’re tracing a narrative or the form of a narrative arc with your hands and your feet.
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Wolf Biter by Sarah Viren
When our habits deform our bodies, we can’t hide the proof of what we do.
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All These Things Engulfing Me by Joe Bonomo
"I can see the singer looking hopefully at the person with whom he’s speaking, seeing the kindness in their shining eyes, understanding the words they offer yet singing, in that eternal melancholia of melody, the real truth."
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OptiDream Third-Generation 3Gen Original Dream Machine 100+ Stimuli & More by Devon Halliday
but at some point in every dream I end up scraping my teeth out of my mouth
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High On Dopamine He Wants You Back by Christine Butterworth-McDermott
So you loved men who combusted, / spontaneously gave yourself to the flammable, / stripped yourself bare / for their ovens, splayed yourself for their driptorches.
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