Aunty Sandy
︎︎︎ Ava Rose
︎ Nov 29, 2022
Escaped juvenile hall by holding a guard at scissor-point
in the elevator
while a small fire burned.
one month later she called home pregnant
[again]
[gave him to an old lady next door]
She wrote country songs.
They were sent to Nashville on CDs marked with Sharpie,
See,
the last half-naked picture of her is
the one of the car accident.
in the elevator
while a small fire burned.
one month later she called home pregnant
[again]
[gave him to an old lady next door]
She wrote country songs.
They were sent to Nashville on CDs marked with Sharpie,
See,
the last half-naked picture of her is
the one of the car accident.
Ava Rose is a writer and musician in Mexico. @avarosemcb
Also by Ava: Ingredients for a Nuclear Bomb
ars poetica
︎︎︎ Marshall Woodward
︎ Nov 22, 2022
someone is getting canceled for talking about tits
my monk is erasing a scribble in the margins
it is summer, it is winter, is it fall
my dreams come true in leaves
engaged
with every text ever
the internet teaches me
any vine can be heaven or hell
the flood is a conversation
between me and the big man
we fall asleep, purring to youtube
escaping to the chateau
my monk is erasing a scribble in the margins
it is summer, it is winter, is it fall
my dreams come true in leaves
engaged
with every text ever
the internet teaches me
any vine can be heaven or hell
the flood is a conversation
between me and the big man
we fall asleep, purring to youtube
escaping to the chateau
THE TREATMENT OF KNEES
︎︎︎ Sasha Cyril
︎ Nov 19, 2022
Arm wrestling that night we called a truce and continued to hold hands
I glimpsed through the back door, to where the secret garden waved.
He had iron fists that you beat me with Tuesday to Thursday
the sober nights
my special nights
It was the owner who suggested the match and she also that screamed
Stop!
When too many goblets got smashed
wine coloured carpets under foot drank up cheap liquid
When she screamed, everyone laughed
all the other two
Not noticing the pairs of hands gripping in fight
our hands in flight, moving down to underneath the table to play
I glimpsed through the back door, to where the secret garden waved.
He had iron fists that you beat me with Tuesday to Thursday
the sober nights
my special nights
It was the owner who suggested the match and she also that screamed
Stop!
When too many goblets got smashed
wine coloured carpets under foot drank up cheap liquid
When she screamed, everyone laughed
all the other two
Not noticing the pairs of hands gripping in fight
our hands in flight, moving down to underneath the table to play
Sasha Cyril is a conjurer and writer based in Copenhagen with bylines in TPR, Playboy, Pariah Press, Dirt Children, and Vanity Fair.
Also by Sasha: VICTOR CYRIL NOEL
plantar fascia
︎︎︎ Emily MacGriff
︎ Nov 17, 2022
I
found a list of all the broken
coordinates I’d written onto Wakatobi
from the back of the ship in
moss plastic journal strips
of skin blooming around the edges
of skirt print bleeding with the crescendo
of steps and strokes spreading open, open, open
into the ocean’s rolling stomach spilling banded sea
kraits slipping in, sleeping with my life
vest bellowing chime, chime
one thumb, one thumb
drumming
where my arteries hung
gasping, preserved, mostly,
by salted affirmation
on a page last night
that time will stitch the sea
together and I thank
my mother for passing
the anti-motion
sickness
gene
to me
and the ghosts
want their body
back in cyan and scarlet
stretches of siren
breath.
coordinates I’d written onto Wakatobi
from the back of the ship in
moss plastic journal strips
of skin blooming around the edges
of skirt print bleeding with the crescendo
of steps and strokes spreading open, open, open
into the ocean’s rolling stomach spilling banded sea
kraits slipping in, sleeping with my life
vest bellowing chime, chime
one thumb, one thumb
drumming
where my arteries hung
gasping, preserved, mostly,
by salted affirmation
on a page last night
that time will stitch the sea
together and I thank
my mother for passing
the anti-motion
sickness
gene
to me
and the ghosts
want their body
back in cyan and scarlet
stretches of siren
breath.
Emily MacGriff is a writer and bookmaker living in Detroit. Her imagery pulls largely from experiences enjoyed while working aboard expedition ships mostly in the polar regions, South Pacific, and the British Isles. emilykaymacgriff.com
Well
︎︎︎ Clár Tillekens
︎ Nov 15, 2022
Some of you should be healed by holy well water and it shows
What you need:
Steps to get cured:
Go on your way and be patient
As the cloth disintegrates, so does your ailment
What you need:
- A sacred spring – within it a tree tied with rags
- A piece of cloth – natural fiber and enough to knot around a branch
- Prayers – good ones to secure your request
Steps to get cured:
- Dip your fabric into the blessed water
- Wash the part of your body that is the source of your sickness
- Humbly say your prayers
- Tie the cloth to the tree
Go on your way and be patient
As the cloth disintegrates, so does your ailment
Clár Tillekens is a visual artist and writer. Her domains include heritage, place attachment, mysticism, and UX. She’s from New York and rural Ireland, and based in London. You can find her work in a few places, including the British Journal of Photography, Ain’t Bad, The Drunken Canal, and Hot Potato. @clarmc