orthodox
Carrie MacLeod
i asked him where i could swim & he said queens
the ocean on leave from kmart & hustle my skin
a white gasp of his piety let me douse
brine to feather entanglement the van diagonal &
flying with sandalwood flames flatbush avenue
to marine parkway all towers and sand as brooklyn
melts into its reef jacob riis abandoned to the beachfront
dream & rockaway i beg i only wanted to swim he said
yes if i wear long sleeves & you are not cruel just
religious i send six children singing i swim out
for sleep i wash up at st john’s home for boys
like a signal fire but the man in robes still lying
on the beach stretched out & half-naked
calling me his whore & we
fall onto the sand without laughing
Carrie MacLeod is a disabled poet/musician from Trenton, New Jersey. Her poems have appeared in SUSAN/The Journal and the Maine Review (1995). She lives in Portland, Maine with her teenage daughters. Find her on Instagram @carriesmacleod
Going Stag
Amanda Tumminaro
I am free to watch my armpit hair grow, looking much like that of an ape. The crook of my arm is absent of muscle, and how I shall dance for bananas in the street!
Now I lean toward the cuts of short hair, and not being so neat with the word “girl.” I bathe less and eat more, and love the liberation of being uncurled.
Amanda Tumminaro lives in the US with her loving family and cat. Her poetry has appeared inThe Scriblerus, Grand Little Things,andThe Ginger Collect, among others. Her first chapbook - "The Flying Onion" - was published byThe Paragon Pressin 2018. In her free time she enjoys reading, music, good food, and thunderstorms.
Comfort Like The
Allison Hummel
Comfort like the smell of
hot pee after a day at
the beach, I’m
coming for you,
reconstruct the
rasp of sand on asphalt
and extoll the
base incendiary
preciousness of
past ordinary times.
Deliberate now for
about ten minutes on
which sour candy you’ll select.
Feel the disconcerting
vulnerability of the
contracting anemones their
slick craggy gardens.
Allow a bizarre
and menacing bug to
bore beneath your flesh.
It’s almost as if
you’re somewhere
Someplace wild
you’re unshelled
of little
consequence
kicking up a small
world of debris
Allison Hummel is based in Los Angeles. Her work has recently appeared in Francis House, Flag + Void, Dream Pop and The Meadow. A chapbook, "New High" will be released this fall by Ziggurat Press.