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they came for me in springtime,
bound me in moss
circled around me so tightly
i couldn't breathe

they painted me green:
i began to photosynthesise

they said,
you'll grow to like it.
we cannot tell lies.
you will.

verdant crept up into my soul:
at the tips of my fingers white flowers bloomed
my hair turned to brambles
my skin to ashy bark

i wait.

a small fairy, wandering through the glen, exclaims:
"oh look how sweetly blue that berry is!"
and reaches out to pluck my eye

i have no voice
nor stinging nettles

only the earth shudders through my roots.

Kit Hamada graduated from Wellesley College with a double major in Computer Science and English, and now writes code for a living. Her poetry and fiction have previously appeared in Liminality and 101 Fiction. She resides in Madison, WI with an assortment of hockey players and four-legged beasts.
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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