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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
25 Mar 2024

Looking back, I see that my initial hope for this episode was that the mud would have a heartbeat and a heart that has teeth and crippling anxiety. Some of that hope has become a reality, but at what cost?
to work under the / moon is to build a formidable tomorrow
Significantly, neither the humans nor the tigers are shown to possess an original or authoritative version of the narrative, and it is only in such collaborative and dialogic encounters that human-animal relations and entanglements can be dis-entangled.
By: Sammy Lê
Art by: Kim Hu
the train ascends a bridge over endless rows of houses made of beams from decommissioned factories, stripped hulls, salvaged engines—
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