The Midnight Indulgence of Some Kind of Profound Funk
Sorry I changed my mind about the moon.
Do you want to go to Mars with me?
We could go from dune to dune
Sleeping underneath flowers,
And kissing ghosts.
“Now” is only 3.1 seconds long and I’ve never
Been so cold that I slept with my shoes on.
Conversing with pink snapdragons,
I remember I have to check on my pickles
And that I hate the word Bosom.
I just don’t want to bowl with strangers.
Your royal shadow, in the winter’s sun
And the protection of your goddamn citrus
Are all that keep me going.
Ariana Nevarez is from Berkeley, California. She graduated from Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo with a B.A. in English. She lives in Boulder Creek, California, happily surrounded by redwood trees. Her work has appeared in The Ana and she is a contributing reviewer for OmniVerse. Her poetry focuses on the beauty and many forms of human connection.
Magicicada Reads My Tarot Spread
You reckon we know before
our shells crack open that we’re
meant to leave them behind?
You reckon we bust up two decades
of dirt knowing we were born to
squirm soft and pistachio and
shiny-eyed from our own ghosts
still clutching the dogwood branch?
How could the screaming in twilight
trees of July be anything but the
fearful sound of past grinding against
a future it did not expect to come?
Jasper Kennedy is a medical student by day and a poet also by day. Their work has been published in Screen Door Review, Rogue Agent, beestung, The New Southern Fugitives, and others. You can find them any given morning snuggling their cats in a blanket cocoon.
of my mother and hunger
inside the body exists a hunger for the unspeakable: rather, defined as a
thirst for things my mother neglects acknowledging. i devour rage
like a scandal: rather, defined as a burst of things unladylike and
unbecoming. when i ate dinner that night i chewed and spat and
laughed about how i wanted some sort of violent and good and godly
anger for seconds and my mother called me greedy: rather, defined as a
hunger for gnashing teeth that i am not capable of. she takes a spoon and
in doing so, likens me to a beast that she would be wise to starve for
something like an appearance. so i starve and starve and starve and sink
my teeth into things unfathomable. i am less so a girl and more so a
thing reduced to hunger and an affinity for resentment. i am less so a girl:
rather, defined as the thing that existed in the body and howled to consume,
raw and gutted, things unspeakable.
Sunny Vuong is a second generation Vietnamese-American writer, and founding EIC of Interstellar Literary Review. Her work is featured or forthcoming in Perhappened Mag, Eunoia Review, and Augment Review, among others. Find her on Twitter @sunnyvwrites.
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