Marcelle Newbold

      Hope lies like the edge of a teaspoon, upward facing, a thickness perhaps enough solidness to knife through a banana or other soft fruit for safety for a baby or to get under the edge of the surface tension of the skin of a grape to start a peel....

Britta Giersche

      3am a wooden door slams shut in my brain a man perishes in a space the size of his grave from malnutrition eighty years ago (I travel on my mother’s electric waves that held their spoken words’ shape) I am sorry that the thud left a hole in your...
Maxine Flasher-Düzgüneş

Maxine Flasher-Düzgüneş

                                               4.21.21       Maxine Flasher-Düzgüneş is a Turkish-American hybrid artist. Her visual poems have been published in TriQuarterly, Pinky Thinker Press, Rail Switch Poetry, Variety Pack Zine and exhibited at...

Abby Crawford

      Stonevale When I was born the house was full of stones, an old blacksmiths shed. Rubble became walls, became home. I used a brush as tall as me to brush debris, dust, oyster shells. In my blue gingham dress and boots. We lived down from the...

Rachael Clyne

      Homeland And if a land      loses its people and they are exiled           will a land feel their absence will it dream         of their calloused feet on its warm skin      will it grieve the touch of hands familiar           with the ways of its...