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Issue #32








on lamenting silence

Amy Bobeda


We tie a red string from one pinkie to the other

beat our fingers closer

then further

apart

la lengua de las mariposas

licks our strings.


Syncopating we

blur our nature bends, cleaves

into this quiet exercise of patience.

Sadness is a lust for language she says each vein the color of please

we beat our wings tied

from blood and belly the string


innate animates; a loop being forms–

feeding, refeeding our cycle of one

hand––heart––string––hand––heart

all at once, self-sustenance.

She dances a rhythmic tension,

shapes begin in clouds, snaking emptiness into sound weather

a rhythm circles

hand––heart––string––hand––heart

words rattle from wings

language gaps between fibers.




The monarch butterfly creates a collective womb that is invisible: the creative capacity of collective birthing. –James O’Hern



Amy Bobeda is a multimedia artist in Colorado finishing her MFA at Naropa University. She is the founder of Wisdom Body Collective, @wisdom_body_collective, an arts collective rooted in embodying the sacred feminine. Her work can be read in Humble Pie, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, We'll Never Have Paris, and elsewhere. Her work is rooted in menstruation, myth, and embodiment. @amybobeda on Twitter.








the lady of the lake has iMessage and u left your read receipts on

Jaime Marvin


hey im here, come outside

i’m ur knight in shining ardor

i updated my software just to text u

with a new emoji whose cheeks are cuppable moons (like yrs

& i mean that) + a pink flush squeezed around the eyes

like orange juice wrung by strong palms in the morning,

(w/ u still asleep, i’d watch your chest, then the sun, rise)

I can’t think of anything more erotic than that

+ 3 red hearts hovering round a floating head

tho the red is softer than ur supposing

sweet feeling will do that

the way this thing works,

I save u, ur the 1

who needs saving- i’m sure of that

nd am only explaining cuz u don’t seem to realize

you summoned me, sword, shield n all, in my old lake bed

I’d been laying w/eyes salted shut, hair alluviumed dense, I heard you

tugging on your heart, throbbing thru all the water that I keep taking in-

I saw the emptiness (in you!) that I can eat up, swallow down, I wrap my legs

and arms across the whole of your body, and I am not enough yet but I will be soon,

and all time is happening at once anyway, you didn’t know that either, but we r already

together

and swimming

you always tell me you’re a fish god, s son of the whole sea, when we tangle bedsheets and I laugh, I hope

it sounds like bells pealing on the air, i’d like to

enchant u but I won’t try, I need you

to come when I summon, on your own, see

to know

(and I’m bad at swimming, barely keep afloat,


i take on too much panic, but anyway,

)

my phone buzzes, and if it’s you

I’m ready and if it’s not

well, I’ll just




Jaime Marvin is a writer, comedian, and tarot reader based in Brooklyn, New York. She has work upcoming in Sublunary Review, and is currently plotting a novel about high school cross country, teen witches, and pasta-related angst. You can find her compulsively rewatching Practical Magic, and if that fails, she is also sometimes found at @jaime_marvin on Twitter or at jaime-marvin.com.