I do not have the stomach to even kill that black widow, her body so shiny in the sun. I cannot release whatever is inside her.
4 photos by Kylie Dawn.
the glowing,/torch-stricken thing I couldn’t quit.
Four comics by Shelby Pinkham.
We inherit these concepts of who we are from our parents, and I appreciate the things my mother taught me, but sometimes the concepts we inherit are outdated or troubling.
Two comics by Coyote Shook.
As in, a body spared from its owner, jerked/onto a splotchy mattress
an infatuation with the idea of my skin
I’m a lot closer to the middle-aged soprano I’ve always wanted to be, but working on this project has made me take a backwards look at a very long shadow.
Reading these poems, I am struck by Choi’s relentless and acute attention to how the everyday becomes shot through with material effluents when living in a postwar national economy driven by industrial manufacturing.