a baltimore-based lit and arts mag
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Category: volume one
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Alexandra Duprey I. BABY POWDER A distant train bellows into blue velvet night.It calls over the roar of the freeway, a ceaseless wave splitting apart Baltimore city. II. IT’S BEEN A LONG WINTER BUT THE TULIPS WON’T SAVE US. Wash your face and shine for God. Rain! Oh blessed rain. Pollen and dirt to stars strewn across windshields. A man in…
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JACK NOVOSEL lives and practices in Baltimore, Maryland. Novosel is an interdisciplinary artist working primarily in painting, drawing, and sculpture. They use a variety of media to create color-popping groundwork for nuanced narratives, centering on the study of body language as they are related to emotions and animal iconography.
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Katia Matychak Sun Abandon Desert Memory ClaySalt Oasis Detachment Sand PSTD _________: Something that heats your bones and shifts all of your cells around. Something that draws the moisture out of you and leaves fossils. This pulls you from 1st person recollection but leaves you subject to everything else.…
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Anaïs Lothrop Part IA fetid smell of not-quite-alive. Ad memorandum concealing little foyer, “My roommate’s mom died last month,” she said. “Don’t mind the mess.” I didn’t. The only salvageable personal affect was an old Singer sheened in dust. We rounded the corner and she led me upstairs. Underfoot, the matted carpet was dingy, catching…
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Jake Leonard my bike’s front wheel sinks into sluff I don’t remember how I fall limestone gravel pierces my palm crystal flecks scrape from stone to flesh I sleep at the foot of the fallsslip in the morningon the mist-soaked moss slender piece of slate vertical in the dirt digs deep into my hand I catch the white glint of…
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Nels Challinor She would not be named Alice. She would not be impressed or scared or torn. She would not waste her time with people who bored her. She would not act her age. The reason would scare her parents, when and if she told it to them. The reason would scare her parents even…
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Dan Foley Borne out of Truro, along the grades of towns as old as the slouched glass paned windows. Could I lean against what shackled wood you made your broad shoulders of? Resting quiet town streets exhaling. The place of which squares and the longer the shingles carpet patches stood at before there was space…
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Ella Loveland I am from the English ivy Crawling up the siding of our old home Beautiful and pestilent With sprawling fingers latched on to rotting wood I’ll pull the paint right off I am from the wasp nest below the swing set Soft fingers reaching for what was thought to be honey Innocent and…
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Robynne Yokota A house that Isn’t welcomes me with the familiar-unfamiliar. I step full-bodied into the lush warmth of the kitchen that melts the memory of Western New York Winter off my cheeks. The lights overhead are yellowed with age and everything is where it’s supposed to be: My mother stands at the kitchen island…
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Joseph Colona Is the point(creating the spherecircling infinity)to be imagined happy? the logic of home:settle on if or then JOSEPH COLONA is a poet. His words can be found in Overgrowth Press, Allium, a Journal of Poetry and Prose, his chapbook “standing prayers.” (Bottlecap Press, 2023) or hosting open mics in Baltimore.
reference mollusk 