Issue 5 — August 2022
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Merita Sweet Sixteen (a pantoum)
the night before, our nameless teenage desire
in the morning, we discovered the ants
of sweet things not yet spoiled, on the cusp of brave
a feedback loop we didn’t know to call desire
in the morning, we discovered the ants
girls sticky sweet, we two were fifteen and sixteen
a feedback loop we didn’t know to call desire
the language of invitation, back to back, was an echo
girls sticky sweet, we two were fifteen and sixteen
bagged powdered-sugar doughnuts kept waiting, bed-side
the language of invitation, back to back, was an echo
gazing at the napes of necks, hands warming
bagged powdered-sugar doughnuts kept waiting, bed-side
of sweet things not yet spoiled, on the cusp of brave
gazing at the napes of necks, hands warming
the night before, our nameless teenage desire
✰
The Garden Grows
We played the game from bell to bell, a
competition for fruit, rules chameleonic
with plucky arms thrusted out, we
clenched each other by the wrist, held
firm and upright like asking took turns
as the gardener: first the planting of
seeds, covering the soil of each forearm plot
with sweet petting, that is, until the weather
came: the
rain, thunder, lightning
a punishment, a storm of hands, nails ragged
from caring little about what bodies looked like,
just how much more time we had outside, our
scratching and strumming against the land of others
rain, thunder, lightning a dizzy
song of grazed slapping, rain a wrapt tapping, then
twisting where the lightning touched
down, the garden was a lesson in enduring
pain and controlling it, we were growing nothing
much, just early bruises, skin a canvas for
playground ritual, the awe of watching
welts form and recede, we vied for
touch and our forearms shone in plum where
the storm touched down
rain, thunder, lightning
from where the crops emerged, we read
them like tea leaves our bounty grown
of flesh, our recess secrets healed
themselves before school let out
GOOD NIGHT MY LOVE by Sophie Marlow
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crumbs
patterned saltwater smears lapse on malachite pennies
patina copper
if I swallow them will the acid polish the zinc down to the kalamata pit
what about pistachio shells and pomegranate rinds and other less
than halves that get tossed away
nickels settle at the bottom now with dud pearls and
compliments from men before they know how serious I am
before they know that I can convince myself of anything.
apricot stones and generation one technology and packing peanuts no one
is eating these things except for me
I’m so hungry
I use capsule pipelines as straws and I inhale the checks too
and the lollipop wrappers or whatever the bank throws
in the bowl snapping around the lettuce hem glass to join tea stems
and the pillows after I’ve already yelled into them
they ask why do you think you’re attracting these kinds of guys
they think I understand myself and my appetite they suck on the claws
and only get out of it meat but aren’t curious about the chitin
I don’t know how it feels to not feel bad for the scraps.
I don’t know what the aphasia patient from the educational video left out
or subbed in when he signed off with I appreciate it and I hope the world lasts for you
but what I took from it to eat later was the wince and the wave
of his hand when he knew that wasn’t what he meant.
But what a line.
✰
Last night I
cried so hard I was coughing up dead parts of
my heart and other organs
pushing them out with muscles from the base of my belly
screaming out something the size of a baby
When it happened, I wasn’t sure if it was labor or an exorcism.
Aren’t they just as traumatic.
I did this on the first day of spring.
I did this while a man carried his dog across the crosswalk and then waited
to put him down until he reached the grass.
I let my throbbing body sit with itself just this once, knees tucked
under my chin from the parked car, paving over mental terrain, remembering how
capable we are of breaking, of becoming
messy again and still finding ourselves hungry
for sunlight, for what we’ve grown ourselves.
Róisín Nolan — Zodiac
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whenever someone asks if this is your first time
you say no
hold your head up high as you stumble through like a newborn fawn
rather than admit to inexperience
you live your entire 15th year as if it's already years behind you
you start smoking cigarettes because prettier, skinnier girls on the internet say they kill the appetite
& you want to be skinny & pretty & something altogether more graceful & refined than what you are
you learn that the trick is to never inhale the putrid smoke
just hold it in your mouth and blow
you try so hard to make the older boys laugh
& when they do
you feel red all over
all your organs plummet
down down down
& there's no ground in sight
you want him to look at you
until he does
& then you want to float away from this body that's ceased being your own
you are often jealous of & angry at your friend who seems to know so much more
who can stand to be looked at without wanting to run
you can't seem to realise that she feels the same gnawing pit in her stomach
you don't yet realise that the best part
is the part when it's just the two of you
& you can speak only in giggles
you are so bored with being a growing, unfinished thing
i wish you'd known it was the best part
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