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On a hill over the sea
two hundred steps above the earth,
I build my nest in the crook
of an old jack pine.
Willow, oak, linden, cypress:
a base to give in the wind, shore
against the tempest of those below.

Magpie enough for silvered toffee wrappers
nestled like distant stars in the crux
of feathers and bone.

Pages torn from a bard's folio
diminished by the rub of time and water.
Raven's tail feather, plucked
to paint shade over the shock of the world.

Layers of paper, spines of fallen wood, salt
flowers on powdered feathers making vellum
of air's instrument.

My nest has grown too heavy.
Time has weakened Jack's heart.
The wind clasps him close; he leans
too far in her arms.

My eyes grow tired of this shore. The air—
too much broom, apple, and dust.
I will abandon this strata bed,
craft another on an unfamiliar shore
where an architect may sleep
in a strange tale's branches.

According to family, Sharon began singing and telling stories before she could write them down. If it were possible to subsist on tea, music, and language—she would.
Current Issue
17 Jun 2024

To fly is to deny death / as the body’s natural state
scrawled in the ashes of who I might have been
Ellie Mathieu can tell when the Big Easy arrives by the smell of its engine.
Issue 10 Jun 2024
Issue 9 Jun 2024
Phonetics of Draconic Languages 
A Tour of the Blue Palace 
A Tale of Moths and Home (of bones and breathing) (of extrinsic restrictive lung disease) 
By Salt, By Sea, By Light of Stars 
Critical Friends Episode 11: Boundaries in Genre 
Friday: The House that Horror Built by Christina Henry 
Friday: Utopia Beyond Capitalism in Contemporary Literature: A Commons Poetics by Raphael Kabo 
Issue 3 Jun 2024
Issue 27 May 2024
Issue 20 May 2024
Issue 13 May 2024
Issue 6 May 2024
Issue 29 Apr 2024
Issue 15 Apr 2024
By: Ana Hurtado
Art by: delila
Issue 8 Apr 2024
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