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Issue #26







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.