By Margo LaPierre
When I say Orion watches over me, I mean it was the name I’d chosen for the baby. I mean Orion my unborn, whose fate was sealed when my bestie and a male stripper and I were kidnapped from Pink Pony Atlanta’s parking lot.
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By M-X Marin
Through the nascent storm, walk away from the river. It’s my first winter near my grandfather’s grave, on occupied territory first named Gespe’gewa’gi, seventh district of Mi’gma’gi, the ancestral and unceeded territory of the Mi’gmaq, later christened Sainte-Anne-Des-Monts by my ancestors. Seven-thousand inhabitants nestled along the south bank of the St-Lawrence 49° North.
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By Vrnq Synnott
It's a familiar outline, life mouthing I want more.
She sat on the sofa, her hands on her knees—but for whom. There were days such as this one where she felt like someone had zoomed in on her. This impression was not new. As if the landscape disappeared and she now filled the entire frame.
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