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They live
beneath the
green lamp
and they never touch.
but, they move,
like figurines on the mantelpiece.
Yes we have such things, lucky us.
Figurines on the mantelpiece.
means no nerve endings.
We're not allowed that,
because the room has flowers.
And yet
my people walked upright out of
a paper grave. Arm to femur.
My people walked out of the river.
How many, I asked, can you bear.
“Hundreds and hundreds,” she said,
Her Matthew leading the brigade
of some said persons.
Our nerves flare like matches, an army of fire.
The figurines shift, just.



Meg Smith is a poet, journalist, dancer, and events producer living in Lowell, Mass. Her poems have appeared in The Cafe Review, The Offering, Astropoetica, Illumen, Dreams & Nightmares, the Dwarf Stars anthology of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association, and many more. She is a past board member of Lowell Celebrates Kerouac! She recently published a second book of poetry, Dear Deepest Ghost, available on Amazon.
Current Issue
10 Jun 2024

In summer, the crack on the windowpane would align perfectly with the horizon, right around 2 p.m.
airstrikes littering the litanies of my existence
I turn to where they are not, / and I nod to them, and they to me.
Issue 9 Jun 2024
Wildlife and Rainforests Inside My Father 
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 
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
Issue 1 Apr 2024
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