My dead aunt visits me in the dream. But, my phone autocorrects Dead Aunt as Dear Ant, by Chinedu Gospel
for Aunt N— My dear ant comes to me in dreams. Because she’s so small, she can make a tiny hole in my cerebrum. […]
poetry
Believe the Graves, by Rasha Abdulhadi
Winner (tie), 2023 Dwarf Stars Award Across my father’s death there is a curtainpast which I can’t write, my own
Life After, by Felicia Martinez
When you dieregret becomes permanentso imagine my surprise when Isaw the stallions thererunning as if forever were made of switchgrassand cloveras
Unharbored Elsewhere, by Rayji de Guia
You wash ashore, cheeks sun-bleached,half-obscured by a burst of barnacles as brine rushes in the gash of your neck, and out. Unbodiedmust feel like living anew. If I pry the shells open, is there anythingbeneath the undulations on your eye? But there is nothingto worry about; ugliness is not a fault—to exist, undesired, unbothered. Within, let go of your needto squelch through folds among folds for the algae bloom.How many nights have you longed for a body of land never claimed, oncethe wasting flesh of the old had drowned? Was it ever a dream that youwould be a muse,sprawled over a beach towel; a beloved,bikini untied in the heat of summer; an image,couched between horizon and shore.You would have been unharbored elsewhere. Of course, let us be honest, you are regurgitatedby the ocean herself, a skull of what remainsof a siren’s call. Here you are, and here I am, lured by how appalling you are. Rayji de Guia is a fictionist, poet, and illustrator. Her work can be found in Asian Cha, harana
Time Skip, by Alyza Taguilaso
Let X be a gash in the fabricof time that splits to showthings sixty-six million yearspast. Let Y be the
Still-life with Shrubs, by Nnadi Samuel
Autumn buzzes around us, like the killing of bees.our youthful legs still adoring crop stains,stampeding the dense thickets, honey-sweet with
Deranged Sestina//or To outdress a Coffin & name it Self-harm, by Nnadi Samuel
I’m handpicked by a misphrase to where my person lies:gash in a word pool of listlessness where grief & suture
The Economics of Death, by Nnadi Samuel
for Japheth Our deads cost a language to bring back.& in Taiwan, mother lavish her speaking-in-tongues on empty sky.
The Poet Addresses Gun, by Michael J. Henry
I want to read all your writing, especiallyyour suicide note.I want to throw you into the sunbut you’re too heavy,
On Sailing Homewards, by Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan
Death gathers hips of bone to beat rioting nightsinto a coma & this was euthanasia granted toa wounded crow begging