Size / / /

Content warning:


they hang our bodies
  art exhibition: west bank lovers
we burn the flag for settlers, how masochistic
  THE PALESTINIAN: a time-turner. we revert
into seas, salt preserving our bodies; souls hanging:
  a speculative piece. they press their noses against our windows
what a view, two Palestinians fucking.

  performance piece: THE PALESTINIAN WOMAN.
the history of [archived]. spatiality of orchids.
  return of light. I am waiting for you, albi,
to throw the gas at the museum & liberate us. don’t be
  a coward. space cowboy, babe, I dream of the fire.

enough about the olive trees, I want to talk about
  when you drag my hair across the street and proclaim
me as yours. left my body hanging in the window; Maryam never dies.
  let the men see how you marked me. molotovs
and bruised inner-thighs: THE PALESTINIAN MAN.
  I want the violence, crave the fire. I promise, albi, I’m good
at screaming. throat splits land open,
  like a good bitch.

the FUTURE. a SOFT love, the mountains
  kissing hips, loz-skinned and olive-washed hair. isn’t that
what we imagine? no missing skin or the sovereignty of fighter jets.
  if I kiss a boy from Khalil and fuck one from Ramallah, what’s left
for my marriage?
  zawajj, zawajj. married into horror stories, I run
into the groves on fire, I want to burn alive with my land
  how foolish, another dead girl. I grow starved,
you demand my loyalty, I’m loyal to love.
  the moon rises, full, and you call my body fertile,
ready, how tragic you’re not my revolution. tear down
  the museums, unhang me, douse me in water.

fuck your performance piece, albi I have no shame
  if the whole city hears you fucking me, isn’t that what you wanted?
primal, like how they draw us in their museums & exhibitions.
  hymen between your lips, they want to see our blood.
performance piece, you eat me: THE VIRGINITY WA AL NOUR.
  break the stained-glass windows, Shammout to paint us whole
take the exhibition, my body
  stilled on your window, burning.

I asked if you’d make love to me when the war comes bas
  the war is always present, its mouth at the windows
they step on our garden to reach us by foot, habeebi, do
  you hear what I am saying? I am dying
for the violence, I desire the sea. bring me
  to my knees, take the stones, bury the
windows. drag my hair across the shards, I heard
  a rumor you own me. dip me in rose-water, I’ll come out
the blushing bride: WEST BANK LOVERS. I want you
  to unhang me, wash me, bury me. bring the gasoline, babe,
it’s a party. will you touch me in this violence?

  the war doesn’t bother knocking.
how tiring.
  how many of Darwish’s lines will they paint on me? a statement piece,

our bodies contorted in unintelligible letters, what a view!
  you’re a coward in love
with their gaze. I won’t drown
  in the sea like a scorned lover, I want to hear you laugh again
habeebi, albi, I won’t give birth here.
  west bank lovers: all I know are your eyes
let me down from the window, albi.

  I am tired of being owned. let the air cool the children,
the rivers, the churches.
  the glass tangled in my hair & your cock
on exhibition. you said once in secret you love me. I left
  my lips for you to eat, will you leave me so unfulfilled? fool, habeebi,
al nour, al nar; LIBERATION PIECE, west bank lovers: all I know
  are your eyes, my hands, the heat of the explosion



leena aboutaleb is an Egyptian-Palestinian made in between spaces. Currently a graduate student at the George Washington University, she spends her time working in futurisms. She can be virtually located on Instagram at leena.jpeg.
Current Issue
29 May 2023

We are touched and encouraged to see an overwhelming response from writers from the Sino diaspora as well as BIPOC creators in various parts of the world. And such diverse and daring takes of wuxia and xianxia, from contemporary to the far reaches of space!
By: L Chan
The air was redolent with machine oil; rich and unctuous, and synthesised alcohol, sharper than a knife on the tongue.
“Leaping Crane don’t want me to tell you this,” Poppy continued, “but I’m the most dangerous thing in the West. We’ll get you to your brother safe before you know it.”
Many eons ago, when the first dawn broke over the newborn mortal world, the children of the Heavenly Realm assembled at the Golden Sky Palace.
Winter storm: lightning flashes old ghosts on my blade.
transplanted from your temple and missing the persimmons in bloom
immigrant daughters dodge sharp barbs thrown in ambush 十面埋伏 from all directions
Many trans and marginalised people in our world can do the exact same things that everyone else has done to overcome challenges and find happiness, only for others to come in and do what they want as Ren Woxing did, and probably, when asked why, they would simply say Xiang Wentian: to ask the heavens. And perhaps we the readers, who are told this story from Linghu Chong’s point of view, should do more to question the actions of people before blindly following along to cause harm.
Before the Occupation, righteousness might have meant taking overt stands against the distant invaders of their ancestral homelands through donating money, labour, or expertise to Chinese wartime efforts. Yet during the Occupation, such behaviour would get one killed or suspected of treason; one might find it better to remain discreet and fade into the background, or leave for safer shores. Could one uphold justice and righteousness quietly, subtly, and effectively within such a world of harshness and deprivation?
Issue 22 May 2023
Issue 15 May 2023
Issue 8 May 2023
Issue 1 May 2023
Issue 24 Apr 2023
Issue 17 Apr 2023
Issue 10 Apr 2023
Issue 3 Apr 2023
Issue 27 Mar 2023
Issue 20 Mar 2023
Load More
%d bloggers like this: