Vol. 8 No. 4

Spring 2026

Li'l Red on Her Way to Grandma's House (The Moon Is an Illumination of Human Darkness)
Editor's Note
Mary Mary Is Quite Contrary, How Does Your Garden Grow?
Irritable Bowel Syndrome
Blackberries
waxing lyrical about something you said
Taxidermy Childhood
Conversation
Book Signing
On the Land
Painting Partners (painting as a past time)
What Built the Ground
Earning the Day
Battle with an Ant Hill
Nurture at Cooper’s Rock
Water Whistle Pantoum
Listing in One Direction
Duct-Taped Green Chair
ode to dissociation
Poem For H.D. After Online Shopping
Feminine Mapping (but it's not her world)
The Gender Roles of Cattle
Elegy for a Friend in Fibonacci Sequence
Revolutions
I was a seagull once
Girlhood
Hospice
Instructions for washing my mother’s coat, after the funeral
The Light that Remains
on hearing Luke Comb’s cover of “Fast Car” for the first time, over the P.A., as students walked into my class
“Today I am full of birds”
Some Notes on the Present Moment
Would You Like Us To Say A Prayer?
Weather Report
Metamorphosis
Threshold
Pigeonholing
The Unbreakable Silence
Through a Window Colombia
3 AM Epiphanies
Wondering Why Laundry Keeps Showing Up in Students’ Poems this Semester
Hard Plastic
Inventory for a Small Loss
Twenty Questions for My Son
Let me wash your hands
tangerine
The Year the Planet-Eaters Came
Our Hair
Sonnet for Gen X
Terminal
Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough
Shedding
Sestina before a high school reunion you won’t attend
Lifetimes
To Be Here
A Man Who Keeps A Void
Poem for a Fairy Godmother
praying in a florida airport
Quick Fix
In Wormholes
Carta di Sangue
Untitled 1
Midnight Waltz
Walking Down the Mountain after Sunset
He Lives On A Mountain And She Does Not
The House When I’m Away
plan de fuga / escape plan
Ode
Railroad
How to Stalk Your Parents
Ars Poetica in My Kitchen
Me and the Angels
The Wild Hive
Flying Saucer Season
Shark Teeth
One Night, When My Daughter Was Four Years Old, She Interrupted The Bedtime Story She Had Requested In Order To Tell Me
Wild Botanica 1460
More Than Forty Years
Hard as Nails
Ghosts Who Don’t Know They’re Dead
Wonder Woman Joins a Postnatal Adjustment Programme
At the Edge of Stillness
How to Seem Like a Normal Person
Friend Shaped
Things That Learn To Speak
Icarus
The Bliss of the Picturesque (Romantic Misfits)

plan de fuga / escape plan

It is easy to hide in a trap. Walls built of mortar we stole and consonants I spit out angry. No doors between words. Windows stained by the hesitation to leave. We lie on rotting carpet  we should have stripped years ago, and cough. Mold is easy to breathe in when you speak English. Nostrils cleared by nasal vowels. It is easy to forget who you are going to be when your language has no future tense. It is easy to hate being girl when girl’s language has no gender. All we have are harsh nouns. “Woman” haunts you, approaches in small steps, encroaches as stiff as our stomachs staring down the ceiling. Before we can cough again,  time offers an ultimatum. Chandeliers witch-laugh in every room. When they fall, we won’t  have to do this anymore. No more girl. Absorbed by light. That is all you and I have ever wanted, right? Here is my whisper to you: we are wrong. Wrong about something being wrong with girl. Our language has taught us to sew blame onto ourselves to cover our skin. At the very least, you must let the light back in. I’ll tell you the only way out. Loving being girl begins at Abuela’s coffee table. In your family’s gendered language. En otra trampa. In another trap. Find solace in how every adjective calls you its sister. In how all your words share space with you, change how they end for you, bow to you like waxed windows letting light in. It is easier to love being girl with constant confirmation. It is easier to love being girl when you are the language, when you own the trap between your teeth, when you are alive to do so much more than breathe in mold. Girl has been girl as long as girl could speak. We forget this in English. We forget there is something stunning about being permanent, unerasable. Girl, leave. It is easier to love yourself with reminders. Let the vowels remind you. Let yourself lock the door behind you.

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