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He’s at attention, musket raised to

an oncoming train.

 

A ghost story dwells in steel

caverns below

 

Boston Common. A man in a red coat

vibrant enough to stunt

 

breaks. A conductor stares into

the whites of the soldier’s eyes

 

on the six a.m. commute. Two men.

A Patriot and

 

a British soldier,

standing guard of the mass melded

 

grave of

a thousand fallen clones.

 

The patriot drives

Bostonians through underground

 

oxygen—stiff.

 

They inhale these

dusted souls as

 

wheels screech between

Boylston and Arlington.

 

A reminder:

history is still as

 

tangible as

a blood red coat.



Konner is a writer and activist currently working on his M.F.A. in Poetry at the Solstice program at Pine Manor College in Boston.  He graduated from Providence College.  Konner has also written articles for Trans.Cafe.
Current Issue
9 Feb 2026

“I’ve never actually visited the pā before,” she said out loud. “Is this where they gather lāʻī to make the pūʻolo?” she asked. “Yes,” Benny responded, glancing to see where Nanea was pointing. “Here and in other places as well. Many of these ti have been growing for decades now.” She paused for a moment. “I think about all the work you guys do, you know, up in those offices, and I think that all of that work actually starts from right here, in the ground, all covered in the earth and the pōhaku and the ti. Most people don’t even know it, but it all starts right here.
sometime in the night, we heard rocking and knocking and rapping and tapping, a million trillion tiny feet
The triangles bred and twisted, replicating themselves.
Issue 2 Feb 2026
By: Natasha King
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
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