From One Girl to Another by Vicki Iorio

And from that day on everything seems different. At first you feel new and strange…..the way a butterfly must feel when it suddenly discovers it has wings

Nine year old summer. I fall out of a tree. After disposal of buds and twigs, the cleansing of wounds, a deeper blood remains.

Girls have some crazy names for it: my friend, the monthlies, Aunt Flo, grandma coming to visit, falling off the roof, getting the pie

My mother tosses me a box of Kotex. Tells me to stay in my room. Continue reading “From One Girl to Another by Vicki Iorio”

loving her everywhere by Claire McCulley

loving her everywhere

i. Here, there is sand in your mouths when you kiss. Sweat and long hair. A shared water bottle glinting in her hands. She finds a succulent plant and slices it open, drawing her finger through the clear gelatinous discharge it bleeds. She touches that finger to her cheek and glistens heavenly. You are dry heat desire and she is your oasis. You drink her with stinging eyes.

ii. In this place of neat grass and gridlocked streets, there is not much to do except make chains of wildflowers for her neck and yours. There’s no one around to hear you tell each other how you feel. You feel like a sparkler, so you say so. Like a lit match. Condensed brilliance. She holds your hand in the middle of paved suburban wasteland, squeezes it three times. You know what she’s saying. You say it back. Continue reading “loving her everywhere by Claire McCulley”

2 Poems | Sarah M. Bess

Injection #9

Piercing muscle makes a dull sound
like ripping wet paper into thin strips
that dry in slowly coiling spirals
fragile monuments to this resistance

like a needle on a record
an inch deep in my thigh
whispering questions and condemnations
demanding citations
even as I bleed

It builds until it screams in me
insisting on a reality that denies my existence
an ontology of my nonbeing
the science of my erasure Continue reading “2 Poems | Sarah M. Bess”

Call me by my name | Rowan Brothers

Do not tell me that you know my body.

I don’t care if the callouses on your fingers are from caressing the dip in my collar bone or the chip on my shoulder. I don’t care if you’ve seen my guts splayed out bleeding black on paper or bright burgundy on the operating table. I don’t care if to you my birthmarks have become the birthplace of a home you never knew existed – Continue reading “Call me by my name | Rowan Brothers”