Fond of Our Shadow words by Patrick Ignasiakillustration by Chelsey Wang Bite down on the umbilicus, resurrecting the road. Weathered asphalt reflects the death of birds, and their shadowselongate on: teeth extending beyond the furrowsof your body, just beginning, […]
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morning commute words by Andrea Perez photo by Sara Qadoumi what a strange and awful thing it is, to stand at the edge of a subway platform. overpriced caffeine in hand, worries in my shoulders, how can I learn to talk to my father? looking up at the flatscreen tv on the dirty ttc walls:
Poet/Mother/Girl words by Zoe Smith Crepp illustration by Maria Vidal Valdespino They diagnosed me As a fantastical wild-whimsied witch— Those who hide behind their lovers In shelters decorated with fancy words of devotion. I’ve craved like they do, But my love poems do not carry the same weight No matter how many different ways I
Crossed Cables words by Patrick Ignasiak illustration by Anella Schabler yesterday, nothing quite moved, and yet, sweeping the entire frequency range, well it’s mostly semantics, but curlicues of waveform-buzz seem just to touch lines of sight, and to clarify, let’s just say I’ve made quite the mess of the sugar-phosphate backbone, I mean, for now,
new light-up pink shoes words by Andrea Perezillustration by Cameron Ashley Mom bought them yesterday.glittery shoelaces bounce up and upsidedown every time they hit the hopscotch.my heart is full of vanilla soft serve and glow-in-the-dark pencil crayons.the lights from my shoes dance with the dandelions. the wind changes suddenly and a strand slips out ofthe
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Homecoming words by Marie Kinderman illustration by Maria Vidal Valdespino Last night I went to senior homecoming as a college student. With my mother as my date. We decorated the gymnasium together. Handmade streamers, balloons, twinkle lights, a photo booth. I drew her raffle ticket. Gave her the prize I made (for her). We danced
A Scottish Autumn Wednesday words by Devarya Singhania Under the Scottish August air, bathed in the yellow and tangerine of leaves, she checks the road for puddles, but is left with home’s call—a home she grieves— on Wednesday’s longer eve. Those Indian summers when didi called her pretty and troubled her with sour lemonade: the
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There’s a Baby Within the Beast words by Kalliopé Anvar McCallillustration by Chelsea Wang For the children of Iran. I wrote this poem after I saw a baby in a demonstration in Toronto while protesting the murder of Jîna Mahsa Aminî . The protest was very difficult emotionally; everyone was crying, screaming, grieving in
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The End. words by Rachel Suginphoto by Kelsey Phung It was all so perfect once, I can barely remember it now. Apparently it makes me stronger, “Disaster grows character” But the only thing I see sprouting are weeds. And not even the pretty ones—no dandelions, Just regular old grass. It’s all so gut-punching
all into one words and illustration by Ella Spitzer-Stephan The skin of a peach is so soft, too soft softer than mine, softer than the hair that grows behind a cat’s ear— Humanise the flesh of a fruit recognise it as something equally as living as moving as my legs—your arms. Its blood runs in
