Latest Writing
POETRY
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THE CITY IS A BODY BROKEN by Natalie Scenters-Zapico
Most days, the light falls so thick I don’t know what it is to be without it. At night we lie in bed away from each other, the moon so bright it is a scrim for the sun. When clouds come, monsoons flood freeways, trap old tires against barbed wire.
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HARBINGERS by Tory Adkisson
There are kettles of vultures resting on the stove. Some apple cores rotting in the trash. Our home’s a monastery, kestrels hang from the ceiling like tiny bells. You get angry whenever I ask too many questions, but my gullet hangs open, thirsty for answers.
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AUTOIMMUNE by Micaela Mascialino
when she hears the word she pictures a car crashing into a column her spine she’s told other words invasion foreign attack now missiles are guided into finger joints the left elbow a combat zone like an allergy to a part of yourself the doctor explains her knees are sneezing
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