Lucky #13 ~ Autumn 2023
Released October 17th, 2023
More in Poetry:
Grandfathered by Haley Larson
Clam! by Jason Arias
Seeking comfort, I composed a list on it: how dying begins. Thought, in browns, by souring, sweetening, softening bodies, in blackening…
The ways evenings bring darkness: sharpening edges of trees, closing my eyes, resting my outsides so my insides can unstill, can regenerate, can seek out damage.
My eyes fixated upon the creeping sherbert sunrise reflecting on the towering glass buildings around me and creating the illusion of a sun that rose from every direction. I mumbled my way off the phone, and stood before the fiery sun, its blistering light paralyzing me like a gargoyle mid-cry.
– Life Must Go On
I see your loneliness
and raise your jumping out a window
with trying to catch you,
the only sport that matters.
One day you’ll return my cordless drill
and the favor, and I’ll build
a new set of bookshelves
and try to live forever
in the time I have to live awhile.
the journey has a hum, the endless road
of orbit and tidal pull
hits a chip, a swell, a crack, my legs
take a sec to steady
I didn’t leave my apartment the Saturday before Ike made landfall. I didn’t know anyone in the city, and I had nowhere to go. Only in the early hours of the morning did I finally decide to shelter in the closet.
Razors need to be dug because they have a strong survivors’ instinct and a digger appendage. Razors fight like hell to stay alive. Once you start digging down, they start digging down. It’s a race through sand and silt for both the hunter and hunted.
Oars of moonlight filter into the sea, splash like sinking bodies, and thrashing arms. The moon is a watercolor on the black sea under the boat. Mama isn’t on Earth anymore. Mama is not alive on land anymore. Mama is in the moon.
She wakes mashing the phone screen, finding service enough to see that this was the eye, not the end. Walking, caulking what she can. Surveying slices of flesh the wind already sheared, putting visuals to sounds that orchestrated her sleep. The final message from her parents reads, This is serious.
~ Rock, Shore, Thunder
December and the rains arrive
out of time, inundate my dreams
nests waterlog, drop like plops
from yellow fever trees.
~ La Niña
… & sometimes yr reborn by the yes & sometimes yr body
cannot escape the rage & i watch u stand in it,
all of u vibrating like a bumblebee. & my heart pretzels
itself into the familiar waiting…
Features brief fiction, cnf, and poetry. It’s like a shot of literary adrenaline to jump start your week.
This week’s Feature…
The turkey is raw and waiting to be stuffed. The pies are done. The oven isn’t beeping yet, or maybe it is, but you can’t hear it, and you smell the browning crust taking over the pumpkin’s spices. You used to make them by hand, back when you had time or when you thought you had…Keep reading
Born in Busan, South Korea, and adopted by Jewish parents, Cynthia Landesberg grew up in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., where she still resides. She is a mother, lawyer, and writer. You can find her writing in The Washington Post, Witness, and on her website, http://www.adoptionsquared.com.
Her nonfiction, Life Must Go On, is featured in Issue #13. Read on to learn what she shared with us about the piece, writing, and life as both an…Keep reading
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Street People – Portraits of the Opioid Crisis | Sally Quon “Marianna” Marianna is on the street tonight. She has a bed, but there are times when her psychosis is…read more
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