Feed me the stars—
if I am born of stardust,
what I crave is the taste
of my own making.
“Peaches and cream
warm as toast
soft as silk”
in this love, she woke me
before i’d guess the color
of her bra
Dear self: like a copper spoon pulled
from fire, you melt then scoop me up
Anastasia K. Gates is an emerging poet, memoirist, and artist from Pennsylvania. She served as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Vanuatu and Zambia and is a current student at Columbia University. Her work unearths the voice of global womanhood that wanders the natural landscape. She takes solace in the quietude of the forest, the fire of the sun, and the infinite universe within.
Follow her on Instagram @anastasiakgates.
The long-tortured years
are flung away
in one fell swoop
and you’re my young
calling me “rippe”
German for rib
because I’m such
a skinny girl
as you were once
a skinny girl
before the great assault
Naomi Ruth Lowinsky’s poems have been widely published, most recently in Serving House Journal, Ginosko and Stickman. Her poem “Madelyn Dunham, Passing On” won first prize in the Obama Millennium Contest. She has also won the Blue Light Poetry Chapbook Contest. Lowinsky’s fourth poetry collection is The Faust Woman Poems.
When I wear a color other than black, brown, tan or grey,
it is my mother’s love of all things bright and beautiful
that influences those choices.
When I dance and sway to some Latin beat,
it is my mother’s love of all things music
that stirs the same in me.
When I love my children more than I can express,
it is my mother’s unconditional love
that she taught me to give.
When I long for a place to call home
it is because my mother gave up
and left me with none.
Lourdes A. Gautier resides in Bergen County, NJ. Her short story, 1952, was published in Acentos Review. Her poems have appeared in Calliope and in the Silver Birch Press. She is also a contributor to the award-winning anthology, “These Winter Months: The Late Orphan Project.”
& the truth is, I could have
done it. Could have ripped
the animal from my jaw,
could have bruised the bone
of this body until it gave way.
But some things don’t spark
right & I know my name now.
Twelve sinners poured over
for the saint we all knew couldn’t
be, but we’re still here. The whole
time we choked quiet like a learned
thing & thought how when the body
folds out what it cannot open,
we too can shape a crease.
Mary Sims is a 19-year-old poet and writer published in The Poetry Annals, Kingdoms of the Wild, Mooky Chick, Anatolios Magazine, Moonchild Magazine, and more. She is currently working on her BA in English, and spends her days reading, collecting books, and exploring antique shops.
Find her on Twitter: @rhymesofblue
Feature Image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
you tell me your dreams about snakes.
there’s the lingering question of what
was happening it’s been constant, you
tell me, and i nod because i’m afraid of
snakes and i don’t have much to say
but you bug me by telling it’s probably
the phallic symbol as siri told you so
and i only laugh
but in my head maybe
it’s because you slithered your way into
our home without you knowing i knew.
i want to tell you that i dream about
snakes, too, and that they eat me whole
alive and well until their fangs pierce
right through my heart breaking every
string of vein constricting in my body
and i might add that the snake has the
same voice as you do when he answered
your call late at night to slip out of the
sheets i thought he only warmed for us
two that perhaps the snake is both of
us in context i’m not entirely sure
Ada Pelonia is a writer from the Philippines. Her work has appeared in Germ Magazine, Royal Rose Magazine, 101 Words, and elsewhere. Besides reading fictional books and reading anything that comes to her mind, she enjoys drinking tea during rainy days. She’s also on Twitter @_adawrites.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash