by Emma Butcher
A queer flower, not delicate though small,
is the sweet scented bloom of the dog rose,
placed carefully in its sharply-thorned wall.
Read More »Tag: zine
Snow Day
by Willow Page Delp
It was cold.
Piper was the embodiment of cold-resistant, sleeping without covers on cool sheets as she sweat through her pajamas. She was always sweltering — tying her dust-colored hair into a ponytail as perspiration gathered on the nape of her neck, slashing off the sleeves of her school uniform, keeping the ceiling fan spinning twenty-four-seven — much to her roommate’s chagrin.
When Opal saw the fan on, she would grumble, retreat into an oversized hoodie, and bury herself in her blankets, like a tunneling animal. Their arrangement was built on the fraught compromise, temperature-wise, but the balance was never mutual agreement — something closer to a ceasefire.
But, this morning, even Piper had to admit it was cold.
Read More »2 poems
Personal Goals
by Mel Eaton
What I want in life is to-
-Write my heart out until my fingers grow graphite legs and scribble away.
-Square up with fear and make the first punch
-Throw my art to the wind and let God be the judge:
(tho with the rain, I can’t tell if it is happy or sad)
Read More »The Amazine Prose Reading: Jasna Dimitrijević
We proudly present the first amazine prose reading!
Our wonderful contributor Jasna Dimitrijević reads an excerpt from her story Happy Ending, published on The Amazine in December, 2022.
Give it a listen below ❤
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2 poems
The Madison
by William Cass
The Madison was old, red-brick, and smoke-stained on its far side from the chimneys of a nearby factory that had closed a decade ago. The building’s five stories housed a few dozen cramped, drab apartments, a few of which also served as places of business: a seamstress, a child care provider, an online counselor, a call center rep, a translator. Its small foyer was dimly lit and had no doorman. An elevator occupied most of the wall across from the front doors bordered by a plate glass window that looked out onto the sidewalk and street. A potted artificial ficus stood like a sentinel at the base of the third wall, and a bank of mailboxes filled the fourth.
Read More »Frisbee
by Ben Macnair
He struggles at first,
as young children often do.
The frisbee leaves his hand,
and falls to the floor.
2 poems
by Émilie Galindo
You don’t have to propRead More »
me up. Let your gaze be my
handrail for this ride.
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