ISSUE #10


Two Poems Lauren Camp what if heaven exists and it is  Harnidh Kaur Headboard Paul Behrens Credo to Leave JK Anowe The Death of Something Sweet  Temitope Atunrase My Papa Was a Shoe Salesman  Lana Lubbe Seamstress  Gale Acuff Two Poems  Nandini Dhar Interview with Lauren Camp Wale Owoade Collapses of Breath  Robbie Coburn Plan D Neil Krolicki The Collector…

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The Death of Something Sweet by Temitope Atunrase


We could have tasted like berries, or something sweeter. I started walking, stomach sucked in, I believed you saw magic as I saw fireworks in you. I tried to touch your fingers, the tip of it was an illusion. Because you never reached out I made you up in my head, calculated all your words to mean something like berries.…

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Credo to Leave by JK Anowe


Do not believe what you see on TV   I’m so afraid of being happy it is the closest thing to shame   ……………The world would still have itself   All noise & no sound/all rush & no reaching   If I wasn’t here   ……………A breakfast club between its teeth   I’m reconsidering dying old   Who the fuck…

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The Collector by Cat Pritchard


“Observe the detail in the headboards. Handcrafted by orphans. All dead now.” Sarah paused to let her client soak it all in. “And the bed frames. Rare Ebony from Madagascar. Almost extinct. Everything original, down to the wallpaper, hand-painted by slaves from Malaysia. I am told twelve people died in its creation. Apparently the paint was toxic.” She stepped back,…

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Interview with Lauren Camp – Wale Owoade


Lauren Camp is author of two previous books of poems, This Business of Wisdom (West End Press, 2010) and The Dailiness (Edwin E. Smith, 2013), which was an “Editor’s Pick” by World Literature Today and winner of the National Federation of Press Women’s 2014 Poetry Book Prize. Since 2004, she has produced and hosted Santa Fe Public Radio’s “Audio Saucepan,”…

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Plan D by Neil Krolicki


Don’t talk to me about cruel, okay? What’s Nazi-surgeon cruel is having to string up a fake smile for the Thanksgiving portrait we take every year. Pearly whites mashed with rage till the end times, pretending Trisha is part of this family. Right now poolside attendants want to rush in, with their all-white everything; polo shirts, pressed shorts, knee-high socks.…

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Two Poems by Nandini Dhar


Canticle This city’s neon-crafted eucalyptus branches are spears in the sparrow’s eyes. A walled villa whose mistress can’t remember anything other than her own childhood, a highrise-sized fiberglass sunflower adorns its manicured garden, the petals cupping into a plastic-hole for the sparrow to nestle. To be born with a city on my eyelids– a necessary training to stare at everything…

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Collapses of Breath by Robbie Coburn


Riddled with distance……cannot remember the momentary framing of time without this connection the day palls itself against thoughts consistent drive as the imagination preys on the senses……unceasing recollection again emerges……restrictions pulse along the nerve ends whatever passion has exhausted……cannot be revived skin worn by a harsh distance…in the breath dancing across your face where you rest alone        in your body….I…

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Seamstress by Gale Acuff


…………………….. ….. Xuzhou, Jiangsu, China New trousers. I wear them when I walk to the noodle diner. Old wine in new skins but they don’t rip until I sit down. Right up the seam that divides the lobes of my buttocks. I have them mended–for free, from Mrs. Wang, the tailor. Her English is poor. So is my Mandarin, so we understand…

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My Papa Was a Shoe Salesman by Lana Lubbe


Johnny ‘No-Questions’ Feretti enters the ristorante. It’s a sombre scene, the heavy curtains drawn and the establishment empty, except for one figure sitting in the far corner. “Don Corlione,” Johnny says as he takes a seat opposite the old man. “How is your health?” “Forger’ abour’it!” Don Corlione grunts. “It is done,” Johnny continues. “The shoes,” Don Corlione orders. Johnny…

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Headboard by Paul Behrens


The walls are supposed to have ears, but it’s the beds who hold the stories. The wooden bed that came with the old house he purchased was no exception, the signs were everywhere: The crack in the repaired pillar from the soldier’s kick, when the bullet was extracted. A smooth, worn bed post from leather restraints. The dent in the…

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what if heaven exists and it is by Harnidh Kaur


what if heaven exists and it is just a place where memory is true? where the smell of home is exactly how you remember it, without the decay of age creeping through where the colour of your mother’s hair is still that of a wet sheet of silk soaked in ink that wrote you where your father’s bones are yet…

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Two Poems by Lauren Camp


Much   On that side of the country, we stayed in a home where everyone was happiest. Everyone played with their hair, talked, interrupted, needed minutes of feet in the water. Needed the water dredged every eight days, and swallowed the plot of five movies, and wanted to wear their white shirts. In the big room, a bird twisted his…

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ISSUE #9


FICTION: Ships In High Transit by Binyavanga Wainaina Short Story Day Africa’s #WriterPrompt in 250 Words Now That You Are Black In America by Emeka Chinagorom The Market by Ifediba Zube Midnight Things by Onthatile Marang Modys NONFICTION:   Memories in Three Mementoes by Echezonachukwu Nduka A Sequence of Bright Things by Michael E. Umoh Modern Woman Studies: “Girl Versus Girl” by Ailsa…

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