Two stones can make light, can fit comfortably in our palms, become anchors of memory. You look like everyone and no one on a family...

Mal Virich is a queer, non-binary, autistic, and disabled poet who tends to ruminate on identity, trauma, and the profound impacts of...

[YOUR BODY enters the stage. YOUR BODY looks exactly as you expect. There is a tree growing from their back. It is Spring, or at least...

Naugahyde face-making with a swivel chair expert sacramental ashtray flicking smoking laws be damned no one has a story to tell but there...

Her story’s naked but her city is clothed. It wears fog like ermine—soft white, with spots that hide old truths but let her new sins...

Where comfort starts with a strap you decorate your arm with a spike and are complete, like an overflowing ditch. You’d love to think...

Two women lie together against the cold bed, hips and elbows sharp against winter- hardened foam. Hands marked by bedlice, clasping damp...

once i prayed  God, destroy everything that attempts to break us apart . i knew the way His people saw me, their eyes pleading for my...

I. The faded-mulberry lunchbox slumps on the counter. Soft-edged rectangle haphazard beside the sink. A smush and ick. The scent of old...

watched a pickle drop in the so-called pickle capital of the world one of many new years I rifle through the rolodex through the aughts...

for Bill T. Jones, “both a provocation and a comfort" he does love the slash/ both at once although/not as one Still/Here Story/Time’s...

The New York winter chill disappeared when Jean entered the lobby of Maxine Elliott’s Theater, crowded with women. It was Jean’s fourth...

1. Everything we do—every dance, every yoga practice, every story, every breath—is an offering to the divine—the divinity outside and the...

Decomposition For 27 years and two months I owned a y   or it owned me. Now, no such question inhabits my nameplate. Gone, too, l . I...

"The compass is a very simple, relatively cheap and pocket-sized instrument, which works without any specific preparation, under any...

SEVEN-TEN SPLIT big strike gold rush & any second now it’s gonna kick in & down, torch red taillights through blinds which slice  across...

Meadows open like books toward the horizon, pitch and swell with prairie language. I know I am in a dream, and this is my way of...

silking day / light into glass  I might have / become a grandmother / or grasshopper / might have curled inside a flower’s scent of...

The park was cold air —sharp vinegar in the nose. A damp picnic, with family the daughter did not know well. She did not want to be...

You come to this valley where the tall grass trembles in no breeze at all, and the road vanishes in the glow of headlights in fog, and...