Usha Kishore

      Chant after Ammar Aziz At dawn and dusk, my father becomes a chant, that flies above the courtyard of the old house by the river, where only the men recite Sanskrit prayers by lamplight, as though in a divine trance, to Gayatri, consort of the...

Jane Frank

    Wake The leaves are a colour you’ve never seen but that I will learn to expect and there’s a fracas-induced full moon, clouds beneath like soot from giant candles. I woke up and the time ahead was missing like Notre Dame’s gothic power and the spots gone...

Clara Howell

      The Basement  The way a halved peach breathes, then rots from the inside out. Her tongue, a swollen garden of secrets. The corners of her eyes reach toward her burning shoulders.     Clara Howell is a poet born and raised in the Pacific...

Luigi Coppola

      Prometheus Burns Down The Last Bar Of The Pub Crawl Out of ten bars, by the fifth, half of us had flickered out and by this ninth one, it ended up just him and me. A matchstick balanced on a stool, he sat trench-coated and ember-tense. Salt from...