How Inconsequential It Is To Be Angry at the Stranger Who Grabbed My Breast and Remembering Loneliness

By Anandi Kar How Inconsequential it is to be Angry at the Stranger Who Grabbed My Breast For the first time I felt the rush of time spraying all over my body like a broken garden sprinkler when a man touched my breast and ran. The fridge, at home, glowed with the yellow of the … Continue reading How Inconsequential It Is To Be Angry at the Stranger Who Grabbed My Breast and Remembering Loneliness

Poems on Tenacity

By Solape Adetutu Adeyemi Hold on desperately She holds on desperately To the unseeing eyesTo the uncaring heartShe holds on desperatelyShe knows it’s destructiveShe knows it’s frustratingYet, she holds on desperatelyHopeful in the hopelessDependent on the undependable Immortality The urge to last foreverThe need to be immortalThe words to last for generationsDrawing creations yet unbornThose … Continue reading Poems on Tenacity

Among The Stars, He Found Home

By Justin Dingler The journey was long and silent, excluding the ship’s steady heartbeat and the occasional crackle of communication from distant command centers. Where would he go and what would he find? Barren rocks? Icy giants? Gas clouds? Whatever it was, it wasn’t Earth. War, greed, lost love, broken promises. All Earth had ever … Continue reading Among The Stars, He Found Home

The Yarikkaya Wind of Alexandria

By Hannah Katerina “Iskenderiye’nin Yarıkkaya Rüzgari” or “The Yarıkkaya wind of Alexandria.” Refers to a famous wind which sweeps through the town of Iskenderun, Türkiye.  The ancient city of Alexandria. Not Alexandria of Egypt, that’s the new one. No, this all happened in the ancient city of Alexandria, in modern Türkiye. There’s almost nothing left … Continue reading The Yarikkaya Wind of Alexandria

Franklin Street 1957

By John Ziegler The rag man, in his broken shoes pushes his cart along the brick street, calls out with chafed voice,“Papers, magazines, rags.”.All afternoon the air is still and pale,the yellow leaves pasted to the wet street.Near dusk, Schmoyer’s farm truck clanks onto Franklin Street,loaded with cabbages, and carrots,potatoes with the mud still on.The … Continue reading Franklin Street 1957