The atom is a recipe for belonging. It began as one, a thing defined by its unit, a secret in the shape of a container kept back in the drawer, hidden, yet safe, passed through generations: “un cuttable”, as if the world is a thing made whole. Every family is a physics. Before she died, my grandmother didn’t tell me how I was made. She baked bread. She felt for ingredients
Published on Sep 3, 2017
The Fall 2017 issue is once again brimming with over 25 fantastic international contributions of poetry, flash fiction, visual poetry, and a...