by H.T. Reynolds
A mother strokes her daughter’s hair,
carefully avoiding the ventilator tubing,
humming You Are My Sunshine through
tears and mechanical breathing
Tag: humanity
Consolation
by Stephen Mead
Every Wednesday it has rained since the rainy Wednesday of your death,
those nights, that rain – comfort, comfort – bringing you again.
I fast to this but for fluids, my body’s parched plains thirsty for each teeming bead
& all that hush of shimmering liquid slate.
Where exactly?
by Louis Faber
Look at this picture carefully.
They fill the streets, singing
carrying signs, demanding freedom
Read More »Almost
by Paul Hostovsky
It’s the almost that I love
about a gray day
like today. In weather
like this, I almost
Read More »Submissions Now Open
Submissions to our webzine have officially reopened!
We invite you to send us your contribution to our theme call From grief to resilience, from joy to resistance in the form of writing, visual art, music or basically anything up until March 30 2026.
We made a few changes to our submission guidelines, so please read them carefully here before sending us your work.
Read More »free dreams about dunya
by Easter Mukora
one a.m: i am looking at quotes from the Waking Life and ran into ‘dream is destiny.’ it’s one of those things i never thought i would remember to associate with you, which might be weird because it’s literally written on you. it’s so late into the night that it’s morning and i am better off waking up than sleeping. so i am writing. i still don’t understand what dream is destiny means. i will rewatch it again next week. or some week when it comes up and i want to watch more than i want to write. or if you waltz into my life again when you app finally works. teknolojia! how does anybody know when they’re telling the truth
Read More »The Last Time
by Louis Faber
The last time we spoke
his voice was thinner as if
it knew the end was approaching,
when it would be forever silenced
even if he had no idea it was happening.
Courtesy Never Dies
by P. A. Farrell
No one told me I would be using a walker, hunched over those curved aluminum handles and hoping the brakes on the wheels would hold, but that’s life. You never know what it’s going to throw at you, and you’ve got to be ready to catch it with both hands and draw it toward your chest so it doesn’t fall to the floor. But today, the bus jostled, slamming me into a pole. A man sneered at me, “They shouldn’t let people like you on the bus!” Yeah, people like me, with walkers.
A slow slog from the bus stop sends stabs of pain to my ankle, but I push on. Good thing my folding friend has wheels. I don’t think I could pick it up. Each slab of the sidewalk is daring me forward. The beast is waiting, and I’ve got to gather my strength, so I take it slow to save my breath and prepare.
Read More »Entrancing a New Season
by Chris Wardle
Praising, rising, raising
the spectral shimmering
of this wavering twilight,
misty thunderstorm remnants
lift reality’s fading vision
of a whole field moving
obscured, yearning
learning to dance, entranced
by this one evening’s mystical turning.
Firm Footing
by Emma-Jane Peterson
Your footprints melt away in tide-washed sand.
Enough of you remains to follow to the crevice
where you shrink, your mind confronting fear.