Category: Poetry

Content Warning: This poem describes thoughts of self-harm and suicide. You can keep me on the pills. I’ve never thought of killing myself. I’ve never thought of killing myself,doctor,even though the cement below my balconyis squared like a chess boardand each open dumpsterwelcomes me like an inviting target. You can keep me on the pills;… Continue reading Pills

Kiera McCabe Kiera McCabe is an transnational Chinese American adoptee who’s found her share of skeletons in the past five years. Her writings deal with grief and longing for family from before and after. She is currently a Social Sector Leadership and Diversity Graduate fellow at NYU. She can be found on Instagram @Kieraosity

My grandma got out of Odessahiding in the hay—of a wagon into which soldiers stabbed                             pitchforks in—again & again… when I sneezed in Septembershe told me with a grin:“That’s why you have hay fever,from the fear I felt when they—stuck pitchforks in the hay.” Ken Goodman Ken Goodman mates ecstatic meditation & poetry creation in Cleveland,… Continue reading Odessa 1920

Dear Laoban,I think of writing of writing of writing poetry to people to people you writing poetry for people you writing poetry for me. These people are not yours are not family are all lovers are all enemies. Dear Laoban these people are people are people are Oh, Victoria, I’ve lost my way I’ve lost… Continue reading Dear Laoban,

I like to think that if my father were here,he’d say, “I wish you could have known them”or, “You have Gonzales eyes.” But how can he say thatwhen his lifespan fits within fistsbetween DNA results and November 23rd,when my newfound sister told me he was dead? Ancestral archives:a shoebox full of dotted linestoo few and… Continue reading Grave Robber

I pulled you from a bubble envelopeamidst a collage of the unknown,sent all the way fromGreenwood Lake, NY countystamped 10/11/17value of contents in US currency0.0 Dollars. And there you were,from the waist upwards,in a four-inch faded Kodak square,looking ever so smartin a wine top and afinely tailored white jacket. I tried so hard to seeme… Continue reading The Kodak Photo

In this madhousethe absent-minded spasms of middle fingersinto the faces of those paid to care lesscarelessly than the relatives who had delivered the dessicated-shadow humans at receptionwhile nodding at visiting times they would never keepmade no impact.Whoever they were beforethey had becomethe same no one –Nonentities. Jammed into precasket boxes.Preserved till shelf life expiry. Shiva… Continue reading Preservation

I remember Sandy Klek’s quartz encrustedzippo that felt like a pistol in my hand.Waving it in the skyI shot down birds, andplanes, and aluminumencrusted satellites. I remember the man with prodding eyesacross the blue, “Whatever,prolly doin’ the same” shrugged Sandy.Her feet                 stanced wide, hipsshifted intothe sun. I was poking andprodding. We lived like Cowboysfrom the… Continue reading Smiths Creek Cowboys Sent from 2055

In heaventhere’s patriotic cascadesof coagulated milkin metal cans launchingfrom the Backyard Sputnik. Words are reconfiguredinto songforms to showwhere doorshave turnedbookends. Pots and pans light the wayreflecting me ontomyself. Jackie Reed Jackie Reed is an avant-garde noise artist and poet based in Detroit, MI.