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Seven years I beg men in white
to make a clock of my insides,
to build for me a patient body,
a human one
with moonflowers for eyes.
The doctors say
rage is not a flower.
They tell me to eat
soft and bland for healing.

So I suckle honeysuckle sap
for pleasure and steam sunset
marigolds for distraction
as the sleepless itch for power
swells beyond my belly button.

I sob when my skin first begins
to sting and brittle. My fine baby hairs
sharpen to needle horns while I call
sing and plead, staring
through dull hospital glass
at the bloody hyacinths
bursting across the street. Please,
I would rather bear fruit
than fire.
But my salt calls no army.
I am an echo in a cave.

Flaming intestine sprouts
from my belly, flares to fierce wing.
My screams carry organ pipes
to the desert and birth fields of wild red
milkweed in the open mouths of dunes.
Rage leathers my guts to mottled scale.
I burn everything I touch
and myself, to shriveling pitless cherry.
Reborn in brimstone, my golden
glinting lizard hide straddles the canal
and I hunger for bloom. Cloaked
in silken gowns, heavy beneath
heady magics, the men chant
as a chorus back to me:
no, no, no.



Liz is a gutless wonder—a poet without a large intestine, trying to write gut-punching poems. She received her B.A. in English from the University of Alabama in 2016. Currently, she serves as the Managing Editor of The McNeese Review, and organizes MSU’s graduate reading series. She is the first place recipient of the 2019 Joy Scantlebury Poetry Prize, and her poems have been selected as finalists for Jabberwock Review’s 2019 Nancy D. Hargrove Editors’ Prize in Poetry and F(r)iction’s Winter 2018 Poetry Contest, judged by Kwame Dawes. She lives in Lake Charles, Louisiana, with her (very cute) dog, Rocky.
Current Issue
16 May 2022

we are whispered into this new land, this old land, whispered anew
i tuck myselves under coffin nails. and then i am the sun like a nairobi fly, burning spine and skin.
The last deer in heaven flees, and Sestu pursues.
Issue 9 May 2022
Podcast: 9 May Poetry 
Issue 2 May 2022
By: Eric Wang
By: Sara S. Messenger
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Sara S. Messenger
Issue 18 Apr 2022
By: Blaize Kelly Strothers
By: Ken Haponek
Podcast read by: Blaize Kelly Strothers
Podcast read by: Ken Haponek
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 11 Apr 2022
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Issue 28 Mar 2022
Issue 21 Mar 2022
By: Devin Miller
Art by: Alex Pernau
Podcast read by: Courtney Floyd
Issue 14 Mar 2022
Strange Horizons
Issue 7 Mar 2022
Strange Horizons
28 Feb 2022
We would like stories that are joyous, horrific, hopeful, despondent, powerful and subtle. Write something that will take our breath away, make us yell and cry. Write unapologetically in your local patois and basilects in space; make references to local events and memes to your heart’s content. Write something that makes you laugh and cry. Indulge in all the hallmarks of your heritage that you find yourself yearning for in speculative literature, but know that we will not judge you based on your authenticity as a Southeast Asian. 
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