Posts

Poetry, Ronita Chattopadhyay

/in

Burnt vegetables and spilled milk or what I will miss when you are gone 

and, yes,
extra sweet tea
because you have always refused
to believe in spoons and
used your unaided hands 
for measuring everything
and misplaced items 
that would turn up 
in the most unexpected places 
like your spectacles in the fridge
and your ability to sew,
to patch up things 
that seemed irredeemably torn
and your smile and your face
and your touch. 

Ronita Chattopadhyay (she/her) is an Indian poet and writer. Her micro chapbook Preparing to be Wrecked has been published as part of an anthology (Grieving Hope) by Emerge Literary Journal. Her work has also appeared in The Hooghly Review, Akéwì Magazine, streetcake magazine, Porch Lit Magazine, FemAsia, among others, and anthologies by Querencia Press, Sídhe Press, Rough Diamond Poetry and Bare Bones.  She loves mountains, books, music and tea. Socials: ronita.bsky.social (Bluesky) ronita_c (Twitter/X)

Poetry, Todd Matson

/in

Author/Artist Todd Matson is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in North Carolina, United States.  His poetry has been published Feminine Collective, San Antonio Review, The Brussels Review, and featured in Poetry for Mental Health.  He has also written lyrics for songs recorded by several contemporary Christian music artists, including Brent Lamb, Connie Scott and The Gaither Vocal Band.

Poetry, Peter Gutierrez

/in


Afterparty

There were tides inside, lap-rolling and full of swimmings with and

Against the waves, lagoons of shifting plastic, and seabirds fighting

With the shore birds fighting with the waterfowl, intarsial contrails

Of diving, flying over, falling into. Nearly every morning she awakens

Only partly, the slosh of dreams and the chilled saltiness of reality

Staggering her back into jumbled half-action.

The clear light and the unclear, and how the two of them liked to switch

Between the two.

The clear undercuts the unclear, which is fun in a jungle

Sort of way—you never knew what phenomena you’d encounter in the fog.

Focus on breath in, hate out.

Breath in, hate out.

Janus felt the negative leave his core, or

At least decided that’s how he’d describe it

Later.

Breath in, hate out.

Or should that be breathe? He hated those online

folks who didn’t grasp the difference. (Spells & spellings.)

In any case: in through the twins, observing thoughts

As they froth and ferment. Then: out through the lips,

Fumigating the caverns of contempt in the digestive knowledge

Management system.

Distantly, a jet plane quiet-thundering through the clouds;

On the next block, a Sonata slides by, its tread smooth and humming.

He could sit here and listen to the dawn-sounds, the sound-

Makers afar and invisible, and be happified for the rest of his

Life, he mused.

His wife, Eleanor, enjoyed a different pathway into the light:

Influenced by an influencer, she went out each dawning before

Anything else. Barely dressed, barefoot or flip-flopping along, 

Ellie followed the notion of forcing undesired action into being,

Doing that which she didn’t want to do to skill her mind into

Facing the unknown; specifically, the rest of the unraveling day.

As a strategy, this swelled and broke like an egg. Those summer

Mornings in Maryland, inches past daybreak, and she could feel 

The hint of heat, the tingly precursors of rain, the immediate world

Still coated in night’s silences. This emergent love of the pale,

Creeping minutes in a pale and creeping hour derailed the project

(As happens sometimes). Later, a post she drafted explained it,  

How what she’d avoided became what she desired, and undid all

The wisdom of the shift. Yet also brought the amor fati peace that

Newsreel chatter, sparkly cocktails, party favors, and elbow-brushings

Had failed to.    

Her husband, whose name is likely Janus, was, is, and will be

Ever unaware of the sutured joinings of her Buddha nature. 

Peter Gutierrez is a poet and writer with work in Bruiser, Exist Otherwise, Not One of Us, and Lxminxl; his books include the story collection From Bad to Worse and the novella The Trees Melt Like Candles. You can find him online @suddenlyquiet.

Poetry, Ben Nardolilli

/in


Waiting behind

Tonight’s stars are a bunch of people pleasers

Shining brighter than ever

And bringing out all the favorite constellations in a row

I stay inside with my lights on, blocking it out

I have no desire for their show

We do not deserve to look away from earth, not now

Ben Nardolilli is a theoretical MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, The Oklahoma Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.