blood blister’s rosy head rose up on my palm. The hammer’s rubber grip rubbed the grooves and divots, not, surprisingly,…
Content Warning: Sexual Assault Sarah Kersey is a poet, musician, and x-ray tech from New Jersey. She is an Associate…
My skin has not seenthe light of day inyears. Fabric coversrich melanin, molds to the shapeof unearthed roots &…
I Guess We Miss Her I guess we miss her; she doesAnd she does, and she does.My mother rarely talks…
sun lore i dreamt the sun was dripping / blood / colors of the moon inverted / / i dreamt…
The Mind Block There are parts of me I have not buried because everything you bury comes out alive, eventually.…
Salt Margins The doorway is filling with purple moths.They come out of the forestlike troubled myths, wanting reclamation,wanting to be…
whenever I walk through the streets of my cityI’m reminded that we do not need water to drown that a…
Slowly, sickly, our tongues turnto yellow leaves.Like an unclean face, wrinkledthere were hundreds of us,mouths twisting around branchesa slippery wet…
so you tie the passing gulls to your wristand let them pull you into the sky. stop in the streetto…