by Parker Baldin
Did the year make any mistakes? The whole
thing and not one. Maybe it was out looking for someone
it knew
Greetings, dear readers!
I’m currently writing this editorial in Montréal at my family’s dinner table with the back door open and a slight breeze rustling papers next to me. It’s still a bit brisk with spring on its way out but I’ve been admiring the recently bloomed peonies in our garden.
by Parker Baldin
Did the year make any mistakes? The whole
thing and not one. Maybe it was out looking for someone
it knew
by natalie hanna
you have torn your plaid skirt
wide at the side seam
but have no change of clothes
until your sister fetches a dress
from your untidy home
by Simone Person
and smiles a poplar-teeth chorus. with a sawed-off stare,
he adorns us queen, as in Black, as in his. names it admiration,
a burnt-cork offering, says if we’re smart, we’ll take it.
before he loses interest. his reminder of what he’s culled,
by Zoe Imani Sharpe
To hear the rapturous rock-star fantasy
“restless imminence” and still
shed leather skin like
some foxgloves float to the floor.
by Meryem Yildiz
the first morning of spring, it isn’t, but it gives us a taste.
the plants are thirsty, stems languid. i mist them with vinegar by mistake. i wipe their leaves one by one, strokes long and generous. i could be swimming,
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