RUIN

Stories from Sappho

Hannah Rahimi like the hyacinth in the mountains that shepherd men with their feet trample down and on the ground the purple flower They don’t warn you about the dangers of oblivion. They should tell you: Stay away from the men who don’t really see you or else you will end up like the hyacinth in the mountains that shepherd men with their feet trample down, and on the ground the purple flower is...

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Haiku Breaks on Tides of Melancholia

Concetta Principe Fishbowl of what aches a rusted nail dying in its bed of wormed wood feels nothing Fishbowl of nothing is not nothing but the tremors of something saints or Danish princes whine about Fishbowl of the limit of saying nothing is not something to share with no one but the self ghosted by Hamlet’s question what is your problem? they said Fishbowl of faith if there is a saint or Dane whose...

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Ground Pepper

Jen MacDonald The freckles around your eyes always had always looked like ash. After spending my morning stacking river rocks to shoulder height for a fire pit, I finally found fuel. I squatted down and grabbed a weightless, crunchy armful. The leaves smelled like grade school self-esteem issues. Twelve trips ‘til the pit was teeming with shrubberies, four dead house plants, and twenty eight cereal boxes from recycling bins. I tiptoed into our bedroom...

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Coarse Edges

Gili Haimovich La-La-La – Lullaby By now we were supposed to be tucked into being parents, owning our own house. Instead, our homeless auras linger on the wet streets, the only blankie we drag through the day and its tears. "Mi-san-thro-pic, mi-san-thro-pic," I lullaby myself, cuddling you. "Misanthropic," I smear my lullaby over a whole day, an era. Comfort  Food I practice on my kitten what I would answer If I would ever have...

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Inheriting a Threadbare Political Treatise

Elleni Centime Zeleke 1 If the body has its own language it is because limbs and lungs are also a repository for events long forgotten by conscious memory. Peel away the walls of the body and you are bound to remove the placeholders that keep the past from spilling out towards you. It is also true that in Addis Ababa the stray dogs beat out an endless tap-tap. Pressed against a sky filled with...

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Darkness is a Trusted Friend

Darkness is a Trusted Friend

Siouxzi L. Mernagh The forest's darkness had become a trusted friend. A worn-in coat resting its sun-warmed hands on the shoulders, then wrapping the entire body in an unhurried could-be-the-last embrace. It had not always been this way. The first plunges of darkness, here in the forest, were like drowning. As each day made itself scarce, and the moon made its eternal decisions whether or not to show its face that night, the darkness...

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