Iris Youth Magazine - Issue 1

THE SPOTLIGHT STOPPED AT THECENTERONTHE ES STRETCHES BEYOND MY SIGHT WITH THE GREEN COMPANIONS

SWAYINGALONGBYTHESIDE

EDITORS' NOTE

IrisYouthMagazineisaprojectthatstartedfroma deep admiration for art and its power to shape minds, legislation, and our world as we know it.

Created by youth, for youth, our inaugural issue celebrates the diverse voices of young creatives collectivelyrepresentingtheveryfutureofart.With contributorsspanning7countriesand5continents, Issue 1 is a collection of works whose subjects encompass love, loss, faith, family, home, healing, and so much more. We invite you to immerse yourselfinthesepieces,andwesincerelyhopethis issueinspiresyouasmuchasitdidus.

CameronandTaylorCalonzo

LISTOF CONTRIBUTORS STAFF

RuchiAcharya

ShaileyBellamkonda

CarlyChandler

DivishaChaudhry

LillianFuglei

AndreaGerada

WillowKang

ChristKeivom

AnastasiaLedyaeva

QuintonLi

PhoenixNing

AdesiyanOluwapelumi

ElishaOluyemi

ShauryaPathania

ClaireNoelleSims

OliviaTimmins

GraceZhang

III.

CameronCalonzo

TaylorCalonzo

HeavenKim

Dup-Luv

Whenyoulettheburdenofheavybreaths ponderuponyourtendershoulders, youarebendingyourbones andyoudon'tknow untiltheycrack andbreakyou evenfurther.

Youhaveenoughmoonlightinyoutogetaway fromthemonstersinyournightmares eatingyoursweetdream youchosetostayandremained stubbornlikeariver whoneverlearned toreverseback

Therollingseaiscrashinguponthegolden-shore wakinguptheKingdomofseashells andaskingthemtojoin thebattleofhighsandlows ebbandflow

Theworldiscruel andsoareyou.

Youaretryingtobelikeabusybeesucking sweet,sweetnectarfromwhitedaisies inthemidsummer'seve

Youbelievedthatyoucould turnthepurplestone intoredandlisten toitsdup-luvbeatings

Springgreetedmeearly

Ieagerlyawait bythewindow forSpring’sonset isthebestshow

Thefoggycurtains Parted; Sunshiningyoung

WithaSilverlining, Twocuckoosshare

asongtotheother

“Howgoodtomeet

Withthewintercold IfearedIcould nevertweet.”

Thesongsosweet

Inimpulse,Iimitate Osee,theyreplied

Hopenotoffended

Acoldbreeze dancedgently

Thentwistedand

twirledrapidly

Pity,thedancerstood still,abruptly

Stillyoung

Forthespring

Ihopeawarmerwind

Notleftverybehind

Thewhitefloaties appearedonthestage likecottonflowers

blownuphuge

Edgesglow

Glidingslow

Drapedinwhite

Likeavintageghost

Iwish,intheskies, Theygivemearide

Awakenandelated, mysenseswouldglide

Thespotlightstopped atthecenterontheIrises

Stretchedbeyondmysight

Withthegreencompanions

swayingalongbytheside

Withabunchofthem whenyourloveenters, withallthejoy, yourheartsurelysway

Stillwiththesevisuals insight,Iopenedmyeyes

Oh,theendofthemild anddawnofjoyisjust

Shailey Bellamkonda is a poet and an author of short fiction from Hyderabad,India.SheisawinneroftheHimalayanWritingRetreat fiction contest 2022 and has works published/forthcoming in Fahmidan Journal,TheElpisLettersAnthology,WhimsicalPressAnthology,Auroras &BlossomsPublishingAnthology,SetuBilingual,TheWiseOwl,TeenInk, TWP Quarterly, and The Battering Ram, among other places. She is activelypursuingpublishingherfirstpoetryandprosechapbooks.Besidesher literaryandacademicengagements,Shaileycanbefoundimmersedinher homelibraryofYAliterature/playingpiano/painting.Sheisalsoatravel vloggeroccasionallyandenjoysIndianfilmmusic.Youcanfindheron Twitter@IamBShailey.

Calling

Outoftheirowngoodness, thestarsrangliketelephones,a buzzinginmyear,remindingmethat dayhadturnedtonightandtheworldwas Turning,changing,churning. Spinningroundandrounduntilthisplace makessenseagain,makesmewhole makesthecaketastealittlesweeter, drizzledwiththesicknessofthesoul,the artificialcommandringingliketelephones, buzzinginmyear,remindingmethat nighthasturnedtoday. Deathlesseyesunchangingevenaswinter transitionstospring,jumpsintosummer,fades intofall,andoutoftheirowngoodness, theworldisalittlemorebeautiful.

CarlyChandler(she/they)isaqueerexperimentalauthorfromLouisiana whospecializesinhorrorandpoetry.SheiscurrentlyanMAstudentat Northwestern State University of Louisiana. They have previously been publishedorhaveworkforthcominginArgusMagazine,trashtotreasure, WordsandWhispersMagazine,ToilandTroubleMagazine,DollarStore Magazine,DuckDuckMongoose,andIlinixMagazine,amongothers. TheirTwitterhandleis@carlywithawhy.

ROY'SWORDSONLIFEAND DEATHHITTOOCLOSETO HOME//GRIEVINGLESSONS

I.Autumnraindescendswithslugsandfrogs crawlingoutoftheEarth.Everythingis sodden theair,yourfeet,myeyes.My aunt'sclothesstilllieinmycupboard.I carryhermemoryintheholesofher clothes.SometimeswhenIwearthemI travelbackintime.Iclosemyeyesand recallhowshewouldactandtaketwo stepstofeelthesmilecrawlingontoour faces.

II.Oftentimes,Ithinkthereismoretogrief thanjustwonderingaboutsomeone's deathmorethantheirlife.Youareable torecallmoreaboutthedayswhen theyaredyingthanthoseofthem singingoff-tuneintherainandyou tellingtheotherhowmuchyoulove them.

III.Ireadaquoteabouthowmourningis foraseasonandgriefisforalifetime.I don'tthinkanyonewhohasn'tlost someonewouldunderstandhowdeep thistruthcuts.Thereisnotasingleday yougowithoutforgettingabouttheir

absence.Itisalwaysthereinthe background,beatinglikeyourheart.

IV.Sometimestherealizationofthedead stayingdeadjusthitsyoumidway whileyouareatapartyfilledwith people,whileyouaremakingyour eveningcoffee,whileyouarelookingup atthesky.Yourpainneversuccumbsto time,itjuststaysthere,cocoonedin betweenthegapsoflife,surfacing suddenlyevenwhenyouthoughtyouhad movedon.

V.Somedaysgriefrarelyworksinstages. Everythingjusthitsyouallatonce the denial,anger,thebargain,depression andacceptance.Anditisnever-ending, asyoukeepwonderingwheretheywent.

SOMEDAYSDEPRESSION LOOKSLIKEMASCARA

RUNNINGDOWNYOURFACE ANDSTILLGETTINGREADY FORTHEMEETUPYOU

PROMISEDYOU'LLATTEND

Somedaysdepressionislikeapendantyouare forcedtohideunderyourblouse/justsoyou couldmergeintothecrowdandappearnormal likeothers/itishidingyourinsanity(!),butstill lettingyourtear-soakedmascaradripdownyour facebecauseitlookscoolandaddstoyour grungelook/itisdrinkingwaterinsteadof bitterbeercansbecauseprodepandalcoholwill worsenyourmentalstability/itiscountingfive thingsthatmadeyoufeelsomewhatyouwhen youhadareallyshittyday/itiswishingyouwere anxiousinstead,whenyouhadyourchest burningandheartbeatinginthroat,anything thatmadeyoufeelmorethanthislowfeeling thatjustdipsyouintoahole/itisrepeatingI'm here,I'mherewhenyourtraumatriestodrag youdownthepityourbrainlovestohopinto/it isavoidingsleepwhennightmaresaretheonly dreamthatgreetyouandwrapyouintheir suffocatingsilence/itiswishingyoucould

rememberthedifferencebetweenmemoryand luciddreaming,alwayssecondguessingifit reallyhappenedinrealityandnotbehindyour closedeyelids/itissnackingonicecreamcones andstrawberrywaffles,knowingfullwellyour prediabeticbloodcan'thandlemorepoison/itis barelymovingoutofyourroomthroughoutthe dayandfeelinglikeyoutrackedamountain whenyoupushyourselftogooutinthedark andwalk,allbyyourlonesome/itissmilingso hardthatyoustartbelievingwhatyouwere fakingandtakethishappinessasasign,a transitionofsorts/itisdressingupinnew clothesandgoingouttomeetyourfriends wearingshadestohideyourredeyes,allbecause youpromisedyou'dcome/itislookinginthe mirrorandseeingwhoyouare,youwhoisstill here,carryingyourselfalongonemoredayeven whenyoufeellikedying/itisshuttingyour griefandtirednessinacloset,sothatyoucanlive oncemoreforyourdeadanddearaunt

Divisha(she/her)isanEnglishliteraturestudentandanemergingwriter/ poet.HerworkhasappearedinQissaMagazine,TabulaRasaReview,The HorizonMagazine,ThePhosphene,TheAliporePost,andPoemsIndia, amongothers.SheisaSouthAsianqueerandasurvivor.Youcanfindheron Instagramatlittlenightmaredivs.

BackgroundCheck

Thereisahitchinmyheart whenItypeyourname intomysearchbar. Thoughmytongueknows torollthesyllablesthat soundofyou,thereissomething toointimateinlettingmy fingertipsconceptualize yourframe.

Somequestionsaresimplytoosimple toburdenyouwith.Iwanttoknow yourstarsign.Yourfavoritecolor. Thewayyoulookedfiveyearsago. AnyscrapsofyouIcanfind, Iwillhousethem.

Iaddthewordpoetryto yourname,Iwanttofindevery publicizedthought,everypieceofart youconsideredworthyofsight.Someday Ihopetoseetheonesyoudidn’t.

LillianFuglei(she/they)isalesbianpoetessbasedinDenver,Colorado.She beganwritingpoetryinhighschoolafteralifetimeofattendingopenmics thanks to their mother. They bounce between poetry, journalism, and academia,hopingtofindahomeforherwritingsomewhereinbetweenthe three.YoucanfindthemonInstagramatliterary.lillianorTwitterat LFuglei.

mom ' sblanket

inthebackofthatbustedcarisleptonsilverleather.yourskirtsoftlikevelvet fabric,wristsbone-cold.itwasmichaelbublébynightinthemomentofabig city,thebackseatamattresspartyforcandy-smearedkids

dreaming:jazzandsportscarsonmoons.thestrawberrymilkshakeweshared onenightisgoneforever,butistillthinkaboutapplesinthedarkwhenyour whispersrangthedeepestblue.whilehesleptonhissidewehadsecretsnacks. ihopeyouseethisonedaywhenishouldbeaway.truthis,i’llalwaysbeunder thatoldstagewonderingifispentallthattimegonefornothing.cutflip througholdphotographs pageantsandplaygroundegos,junieb.joneswith fruitjamcookies,you’llcryoveroutgrownsocks.

postcard from a university hotel

whichsaysI’vearrivedattheplacewithskyscrapertrees thick-knottedacacias,camouflage-greens, postcardofManila,seenthroughtheeyes ofsomeoneleavinganoldlifebehind.

Yourhottemper,coldcravingswouldn’tlikeit: absentbreeze,dryairsprawling,theglitterintheconcretedoesn’thelp.

Ifyouevervisit,here’swhat: pandanteainfrostedglassandbananasundaetastelike, orangesaladrubberchewysmellslike

sittinginthebackofthestockroom like amothermincingfoodforyou,gingerly.

Theroomshaveaweightofdisuse, debrisonthepillowwheremyheadshouldgo,bathrooms withstickyfloors.Butbeautyevokes redemptionwhenyouseethebendofthatoldtree, brownyellowwonder. You’llunderstandallpoemsthatworshipnature.

AndreaGerada(she/her)isawriterfromthePhilippines.Shelovescandles, cats,andchildren'sstories.YoucanfindheronTwitter@andiesburgers.

Wonderment in a Sunny Garden

InfacingTroy’sdestruction,thestarsremainedunmovedwhiletheirdaughter cried gilded streams. Aria sat under the covers, motionless, the silence punctuatedonlybyBella’ssteadybreathing,areassuringmetronome.Inthe daysprecedingthisnight,Bellahaderectedanestforherselfinthecrooksof Aria’sapartment,herdazzlingfelicitycreepingintocheerlesscorners.Shehad neversaiditaloudtoBella,butherpresencewasawelcomeone.Atleast,it chasedawaythehellhoundsthatAriawouldotherwisehavetosuppressonher own.Bellarightlybelongedtothenight,yetdaylightimbuedheraura.Ontop ofthat,Ariatreasuredtheirferventintimacy.Affectionwasararebalmtoher tired, unending existence. With Bella, Aria had come to understand the yearningthatApollohadfeltforAdonis.Inhumanterms,shesupposedthey wouldbecalledlovers,buthumanliveswereephemeral.Humannotionsof marriageweresuperficialconstructsthatservedlittlemeaningforbeingslike her,forwhometernitywasasimpletriviality.Though,Ariahadgrudgingly admittedtoBellaearlierthatpartakinginsuchaceremonywouldbesomewhat entertaining, to which Bella gleefully proclaimed her own accurate observations. Bellasleptsoundly,stillunawareofAria’swakefulness.Shewonderedwhat pasturesBellacouldbefrolickinguponinherdreams.AcrossAriawereopen windows,andthroughthem,thestar-dottedsky,dwellingsanctuaryofthelast existingdivinities.Theywereminorimmortalswhosequesteredthemselves overAtlas’domewhenOlympusfellapartinitsstrife.Areswouldhavebeen proudofhowhisfactionperished,carnagetintingoceansindeathlyhues. Now,noneofthemwouldrisktheirquietudeforfleetingmortalaffairs,instead dispatchingtheirfleshlycreations.Thestarsglintedwithuntoldtragedies.Too bright,untiltheypiercedAria’sirisespainfully.Ariahissedasascratchtoreitself

openonherpalm,ichortricklingfromtheslit.Ajarringreminderofher purpose,aconsequenceoftheblessingthePleiadeshadbestoweduponher. Somewhere on this terra, another nascent immortal had been slain by transcendentdecay,andhumanmiserysurged.Bellafinallystirred,openinga sleepyeyetosquintatAria.

Aria squeezed her wound tightly, pressing it into the sheets below. “It’s nothing.Gobacktosleep,”Ariawhispered,notlookingattheintolerably radiantfigurebesideher.ShedidnotwantthisdespairtomarBella’sblisstoo.It hadalreadysprawledacrossthefloors,infectingeverythreadthatAriahad foughttodefend.Bellatittered,deridingtheobviousnessofAria’sinjury.

“Continueignoringthose,andyou’llenduplikethesorrylotofthemtoo, corruptedbeyonddivinerepair.”BellarolledintoAria,lightlygraspingher hands.Amomentlater,herskinpatchedup,thevestigesofAstraea’spowerin BellasoothingAria’sagony.“Butreally,don’tgoon,”BellapleadedwithAria, worrycreasingherunusuallybrighteyes.Bothfellbackinsilence,thoughtsof discardedcomfortpassingwithordinance.Bellawasdutifulenough,butshe wouldneverwillinglyallowforherlover’ssacrifice.Whentheireyesmetagain, they arrived at an unspoken consensus to set aside such topics for an undeterminedfuture,andratherfocusonthemoregloriouspresent.Afterall, theyhadaneternity’sworthofnightstotalk.NocturnalBellawasaforcetobe reckonedwith.SheclawedatAria,demandingendlessdelights.Thisrealmwas fertilewithAphrodite’sblessing.Whentheygrewwearyoftheexchange,Bella laidAriabacktoslumber.“Iwilljusthavetocreatetheperfectexcuseforyou then.”

Ariajoltedawakewhenamischievousrayofsunlightcollidedwithherbarely consciousskin.Thedreadfulunderstandingofhavingoversleptdrenchedher likeacoldfever.Shewasatoncemadatherownill-discipline,whilealso brazenlyindulgingintheaftereffectsofafullnight’srest.AriafoundBellainthe kitchenmakingalaughableattemptatsmoothies.Themushintheblenderwas

unrecognizableandremindedherofswampwater.BeforeAriacouldcomplain, BellarebuttedwiththevindicationthatElectra’sspriteworkersweremorethan capableofhandlingtheirworkduringtheirshortabsence.Ariarolledhereyes andfoundoasesinhercompanionship.Chaossatbackonitshindlegstheway dogsontapestriesdowhenBellacomestotamehurricaneswithnothingbuther wind chimes. Aria took the breakfast Bella made without argument. She wonderedwhatthetapestrywouldlooklikenow,paintingdoomedguardians abreastwithfreenebulae.Aria’slipstingledwhentheymettheexuberancethat poppedineverypocketofBella’sbreath.She,morevivaciousthanmortal youths. Such vitality should be unbecoming of someone who was never birthed,butAriarealizedthatsheherselfwastiredofamildewedexistence. PerhapsshecouldlearntoappreciatethemelodiesofOrpheusthatBellaso enjoyedplaying,atleast,withoutthefearofsin.

Theysatdownforaproperbreakfast,neitherherenorthere.Theexperimental smoothiefrothed.Ariacontemplatedwhichessencesofwhattendercreatures hadlenttheircolor.Bellanotedthelesserfairieslivingintheoaktreethatstood watchoutsidetheirhome.Theconversationdriftedonthewindasgentlyas serenadesonBella’swindchime,whichjangledingoldentimbresfromwhereit hungbytheopenwindow.Whentheyfinished,BellawasquicktodetainAria forsillycrimesandthegreatervexationofAria’sconstantovertaxation.

“Iwillbringyousomewhereelsetoday,whetheryoulikeitornot,”wastheonly hintBellayieldedtoAriawhenshedidnotletuponherquestioning.When Belladecidedthatshe’dhadenoughoftheirdullabode,sheclungontoAria’s fingerstightlyandledthemtomoreverdantsteps.Bellaskippedlightlywithher usualprancing,atthesametimeteasingAriaforherausterity.Afterall,they weremeanttobecreatedfrommassesofinsubstantialstardust,aslightweightas thestickinsectsthatscutteredalongtheleafpilesonthefloorsoftheforestthey wereentering.Sunlightfilteredthroughleaveslikeaninquisitiveant,forming bafflingpatternsonthegrass.Theyarrivedataclearingwhereatinygarden nestled.Inthemiddleofthegardenwasasprucetablewithteasetsarrangedfor

twoguests.Overhangingwisteriadrapedthebrickwalls,whileastonegargoyle stoodguardatthegateagainstheraldsofdiscord.Vinesfortifiedtheplaces wheretheoutsideforestthreatenedtospillin.Thissanctuarywastheexact likeness of Persephone’s garden in springtime, when no underworld gods woulddaretointrude.SomethingonBella’sfacetoldAriathatshehadfully expectedthisscene.ShemusthavepreparedthiswhenAriawasnotlooking. Whataquixoticoffering,tothinkthatBellawouldgiveupherownidyllto makeAria’sunwontedhaven.TheimplausibilityofBella’sdevotionstriked Aria,drivingawaythoughtsofwaningsuns,rottingangels,unconquerable monsters. Lavender smoldered in Bella’s palm, even if only for a fleeting moment.Eternitywasnotaconvictionthatearth-dwellerscouldafford.

BellabecamerestlessatAria’sside,proddingforcommentsonherdesigns. Aria’slongingbecameatempestthatAphroditecouldnothavecontained.If thestarsdidnotforetelltheirpairing,thiswouldbeheresy,andAriafoundthat she could not care less. The sun cast Bella’s body in dazzling hues, more luminousthanthecelestialsthathauntedAria.Onlywhentheforestsaround them rustled, warning of outsiders, and careless footsteps disturbed what unknownfieldslayaroundthem,doesAriaremembertofearassassinscloaked byplaceswherethelatemorningsunhadnojurisdiction.Shewrappeda cautiousarmaroundBellaandwhiskedherintothebushesnearby.Whatever magicshewoveintothecoreofthisspacecouldstillposeunforeseendangers. Besideher,Bellagrumbledaboutfacingtheintruderhead-oninstead.Aria relaxedwhensheglimpsedthestranger,agirlwhoappearedtobebarelyinher twenties.Thegirlwandereddeeperintotheforest,seeminglyunafraidofany potentialtraps.Ariatriedherbesttoresisttheurgetoteachthegirlabout prudence.

“Iwouldtotallydothat,”Bellaremarkedinanenthusiasticwhisper.

“Andgetyourselfintotrouble,”Ariashotback.Bellastuckhertongueoutat Ariachildishly,thenranawaytowatchthegirlmoreclosely,Ariachasingafter

heramongthetallweeds.Ariapanted,havingjustcaughtuptoherwhenher ultramarinecloakbrushedagainstBella’strademarksilverrobes.Bellamoved thevinesasidesurreptitiouslyfromthecornerwheretheyhid,justintimefor Ariatocatchherarm.Ariadreadeddealingwiththequestionsthatwould inevitablyarriveiftheirnaturewasrevealedtohumans.

“Don’tdothat!”Ariatutted.“Ifshefindsthatgardenwewill—”

“Ohjustrelax,youstickler.Itisnotoftenthatmortalsfindtheirwayintoour spaces, ”giggledBella.Ariasighed.Herdatewasabouttoberuinedbyherown lover’santics.

“Iwillmakeituptoyou,”Bellapromised.AriawatchedonanxiouslyasBella transformedthestonegargoyleintoametalarchwayandthevinesintomore sprawlingwisteria,anassuredlygrandentrancefortheintrepidexplorer.She couldfeeltheaweinthegirl’sexpressionandhadtosuppressasmile.Itwas indeedpleasanttoseewondermentonamortal’sfaceagain.Thedivinehad beenmissingfortoolonginthisrealm.

“See?Toldyoushewouldlikeit,”Bellasaidsmugly.“Youknow,Ilikeher.I willinviteheroverforproperteasometime,”andAriadidnotdisagree.

Toboththeirrelief,thegirlturnedbackshortlyaftershefinishedsurveyingthe garden.Afterthegirlexitedthroughthearchway,theyemergedfromhiding, Bellarestoringthestonegargoyletoitsoriginalformandthevinestotheir rightfulpositions.AriaallowedhersleevestoenfoldBella’swaistagain,trusting herselftodefendBellawellforonce.Bellasettledagainsther,herwindchime materializinginhandtodancewiththebreeze.Ariaclosedhereyesandlistened tothemelodies’mirthfultalesofmischief.Inthisparticularmoment,thesun was a merciful deity, tinting the garden in coruscating sparkles instead of depositingpallidbeggarsatAria’sdesk.Bella’swindchimerangclearandmerry inthesunbeams’glimmer.Overhead,onlywispsofgossamercloudsmoved.

Nightfallwasalongtimeaway,andAriawouldcherishdaylightwithBella beforehersleepterrorscameforher.Still,Bellawouldbethere,takingon Orpheus’mantletochaseawayhellhounds.Arianeverfeltmorecertainthat oneday,shetoowouldbepermittedtotraverseBella’sdream-worldsofspring andrabbits.

WillowKang(she/her)isawriterfromSingapore,wheresheiscurrently studying.Hercurrentpreoccupationsincludetakingnapsandlisteningto music.Whilenotinschool,Willowreadsacopiousamountoffairytalesand writesthesamewaytokeepherselfsane.Coffeebreaksarealsoonhermind. Sherunsashopatko-fi.com/oldmanheart.

InterpretationofFaith

Ispendsomuchtimethinking

ThatGodhasalwaysbeenarhetoricalquestion Butalltheworldeverdoesislookforananswer.

OncewritingapaperonKierkegaard,Ithought Offaithasorphans;

Shimmeringwithpiety,white

Asallegoricallambs

Whoprayedforthehistoryofabetterocean, Witharmstiedbehindtheirbacks

Whowereleftblindfoldedin

Themurkofastygiannight

Andalltheycoulddowasfollow

Thefootfallstowardafuture

Theywereneverpromised. Sometimes,IthinkI’moneofthem

Thatlastleafonthefamilytree—

AndGod’shandfanunder Andoverme.Backandforth

Likethesailofaboatunfurling

Asitcatcheswind;

Mybodyhasalwaysbeensacrificialinitsprayer

Iamthelamb’sbodystrewnasunder

AndIdreaminthelamb’shead

hungbyaropeonthetotempole. Today,Isoughtallmytransient Blessings

Bymovingfromroomtoroom

Likeabroom,dustingupthesalvaged

Remainsofephemerality.

Ihavelearnedtobelieve

Faithisholdingyourbreathinwater

AndGodistheinvisibleairyoucomeupfor.

Ihavelearnedtobelieve

Faithistheparableofaneternalflame

Thatoncestartedcanneverbeputout.

A“Eachletterwouldstillhaveyourattention...That’swhyI’lljustuseyourinitial." -JessicaGreenbaum

Ashamed.Again.Another.Aisforantecedent,anterior,theabsencefrom whichallartarises.Afraidtobeassumedyetachingtobeacknowledged.Also, theatriumoftheheart,thearterialcircleofiris,thesinewofarms.Aisambient andaloof,foralwaysbeingaloneinagoraphobia.Itisabout,above,across, after,against,along,among,around,at.Always.Likeageabrasingaway.Ais awe-aspiringauspiciousalliterationandIamwhatIamassonance.Theabstract afflictionweabsorbinto:anger,apathy.Anytime:AprilorAugust;autumnal orannual;ante-factoraftermath;antemortemorautopsy. Neitheramazing, neither assuasive. Nor agape, nor aghast. Not anymore, not another. An accident;attheaidofanambulance.Anatrocity,anavarice,anaspersion.

Notancient,notlong‘ago’.Aisambiguityofaffection,ambivalenceofardour. AisAsphyxiation,isalsoair,aroma,agarbatti.Aisforapocalypse.Acity abolished, aflame, ashen. An animal astray and annihilated. A is Art too abstractandabstrusetosustainattention.AisAuFond;youareadorned, altruistic,authentic.Aisyoumakemefeelalive,ameliorated,acceptabletothe absurdityofangels.Sayingaffirm,amend,attest,approve,amen

ChristKeivom,fromIndia,iscurrentlypursuinghismaster'sinEnglish LiteraturefromDelhiUniversity.HisworkhaspreviouslyappearedinNovus Literary Arts Journal, Mulberry Literary, Monograph Mag, Farside Review,SpotlongReview,TheChakkar,WriteNowLit,andNativeSkinto nameafew.

Corpses'Flowers

“Theflowershaveamelody,”everyyoungchildclaims, Yettheydon’tsharethatwiththeworld,butwithinwhisperedgames. Theflowershumamemoryfromtimesbeforetheirown, Andwhatthechildrendonotknowisthatthey’vegrownfrombone. Beforethechildrencametobe,amantoreattheearth Andburiedcorpsesinthesoil,hopingtheywouldrebirth.

Whentheydidnot,themantoreattheearthanothertime Andcried,kneelingbeforethecorpses—palmscoveredwithgrime. Histearstrickledintothesoiland,fromthem,flowersgrew Becausethecorpseshadoncelivedwheretheywereburied,too.

Nowallthechildrengathercloseandmurmurtowhatbloomed Asthatwhatbloomed—theflowers—singsforthecorpsesentombed.

Beneaththesoil,thecorpseswaitforthenextyeartopass Andthink—thechildrenwillbeburiedthere,withthecorpses,enmasse.

AnastasiaLedyaeva(she/her),originallyborninSt.Petersburg,Russiaand raisedinSuwon,SouthKorea,residesinthesuburbiaoftheMidwest.An aspiringauthorsincethegrandoldageofsix,sheiscurrentlyastudentanda part-timefreelancer.Sheisalsoaplus-sized,bisexualwomanwhoadoresthe dramatic, the angsty, and the dark. She can be found on Twitter at @ladyzenikandonInstagramat@anastasialdv.

Turnmywordstohoney

Turnmywordstohoney sothatmyfoulmouth maybesweetenedby thetouchofyourtechnique.

Myhoneycombheart—itbeats fasterforyourink-stained fingertips,wordsthattrickledown theparadoxofmybeing.

Thatistosaythat yourexpressionsand wisdomallinonemakelife worthmorethanitwas.

Forgemymonstrosityaway, tearitapart— shredawaythewoesthat hide.(Don'tcomefindme.)

Foryourmeltinghands, yourpiercinggazes, holdthemselvesbetter thanIeverdid.

Q u i n t o n L i ( t h e /y t h e m ) i s a M e l b o u r n eb a s e d n o nb i n a r y n o v e l i s t, p o e t, a n d f i c t i o n e d i t o r . T h e y a r e t h e a u t h o r o f T E L L M E H O W I T E N D S, r e l e a s e d A p r i l 2 0 2 3 . W i t h a l o v e f o r f o r t u n et e l l i n g , a n g e l i c b e i n g s a n d t h e h u m a n c o n d i t i o n, i 't s n o w o n d e r t h a t m a n y o f t h e i r w o r k s a c r o s s f i c t i o n a n d p o e t r y t o u c h o n t h e s e s u bj e c t s . A l o n g s i d e t h e s e t h e m e s, t h e y s t r o n lg y r e s o n a t e w i t h q u e e r a n d A s i a n d i a s p o r a w o r k s a n d b e l i e v e t h a t a r t c a n c h a n g e a p e r s p e c t i v e o r e n h a n c e i t .

SevenofCups

Ilostmyway

inthejewelrystore, admiring flashydiamonds, forestemeralds, oceansapphires, flamingrubies, sunnytopaz, nightskyonyx, snowymoonstone. Fingersofwindtouch thechimesOutside. Yet,allIcareforarethe seductivejewelsthathad replacedTrueNature, somanyjewelsnaturalizing theunnaturalyearning forfalsenature.Drink fromthegildedgoblet, andstayafterclosing. Stayforeverinthestore. I’macreatureundead, oncebreathing, nowbreathless. Marvelingatluridjewels. Luriditybright,luciditydark. Drowning

drowning drowning intheseaofjewels. Noshoreinsight. Myheartlandrots withwiltedblooms andabandoneddreams. Echoingwiththelaughter ofachildlongburied beneaththestore.

Stayawhilelonger. Comebacksoon.

ComebacktoMe. ComebackHome.

PhoenixNingisa20-year-oldChinesewriterofsapphicantiheroinesand queerfoundfamilies.Sheiscurrentlyaseniorstudyinghuman-computer interaction.Whennotwriting,shecanbefoundwatchingC-Dramasand penningraps.Afierceadvocateofdiversityinmedia,shehopesthather audiencewillfeelempoweredafterreadingherwordsorlisteningtohersongs.

APoemonHealing

thedentistwilltellyouitwon'thurt&yetitwill.theysaytoexorcisepain,you mustbereadytobearpain.&thisismerunningawayfromwritingapoem abouthealingagainbecausehowmuchmoremustthisbodyendureifwounds keepsproutinglikewildflowers.oncemyloverbrokemyheartintoshards& whenIgluedthepieceswithacrylic,shereturned&brokeitagain.tosayIhave beenbrokensomanytimesthatmybodyhasbecomeacrashcoursefor needlestoharnesstheactofstitching.mybodyisamannequintingedwith scars&whenIsayIamacolorlesssoul,Imeantherearenorainbowsinmylife butdarkcloudsmistingabovemyhead.yesterday,thestormingrainflooded mymindwithsuicidalthoughts&justwhenIthoughtIhaddoneit,death slippedfrommyfingersthesamewayhappinesshasalwaysdone.whenIcry, myeyesbleed&eachblooddropisametaphorparaphrasingtheeffectsofthis cancerouspoetrywhichisslowlyeatingmybodycellbycell,tissuebytissue, organbyorgan.IamstilllearningnottobeaclottingwoundsacbywhichI meanthispoemonlynursesthewoundwhenwhatIdesireishealing.

TheManWhoWritestoHeal

Thetherapistasksthatheexplainhisdilemmabutthewordsthatsproutoutof hismoutharegardensofpoeticlanguage.Yet,eventhesemetaphorsbetray him.Thetruthis,nomatterhowreflectivetheimageryis,itcan’tbeamirror.I couldwritemysorrowincoupletstotellyouthatthispainfastensitselftomy bodylikeadog’sleashandcallsmeitsowner,butthegravityoflanguagewill spareyoutheweightofpain.

Whenthepenwrites,doesitbleed?Whenthepaperisscribbledupon,doesit tearintowounds?Thetapestryofmysoulistornintotwowarringparts:body andspirit.Willtheselongneedle-likelinesstitchtomendaconfluence?Orwill thisbeanotherpoemonhealingwithnohealinginit?

APseudonymforChaos

Iamstillsearchingforpeaceinthiscityofchaoscalledmind.Picturethis: blood-tingednegativesstackedinacassettejacket—ThisisbesthowIknowto saythereisawarinmyhead,mythoughtsaretrainingarchers&mybrainis theirtargetpractice.TherearedaysIwillsauntertothechurch,onlytoforget myprayers.Deliriummademeitsmetaphor&whenIsayIwanttoforgetthis loss,remembranceunsheathesthewoundsafresh.Once,Imoldedmypain intoapaperplane&speareditintothecynicblowofthewindbutit aeroplanedbacktomelikeaboomerang.Itthrustitselfaroundmelikeadog leashasiftosayIwasitsowner.WhenItellyoumybodyisalibraryofhorror,I meanIhavewornsomanynightsthatdarknesshasstitcheditselfintomyskin. SomedaysIwalktothegraveyardtoacculturatemybody&plantaserene senseofsilenceinmyheadbutthevoiceswhisperingdonotkeepatbay.Their voices,asloudasamockingbird'showl,howlinmyearsthatmylifewillnever hearthequietudeofahappyheartbuttheshatteringvibrationsofbroken bones&crackedshelledskin.Iamapseudonymforchaos&nobeautiful mosaichaseversprungoutofmybrokenpieces.Lastnight,anowltoldmethe kindofpeaceIseekwasdeath&Ilaughed.

AdesiyanOluwapelumi,TPCXI,writesfromOyoState,Nigeria.Hewasthe winneroftheCheshireWhiteRibbonDayCreativeCompetition2022&an HonourableMentionrecipientintheStarlitWinterAwards2022.His workshaveappearedorareforthcominginPoetryWales,KissingDynamite, IcefloePress,LumiereReview,EunoiaReview,Asterlitandelsewhere.Find himontwitter@ademindpoems.

ofapol'sprayerandoffering

theinvitationwentoutfollowingaspateofrumoursandscandals:of bullionvansfrequentingchieftunibun'svilla;ofhislongbutcovered historyofdruggeryandthuggery;ofhisphysicalandmentalincapacity; andofthedarknessthatloomsinalesserdark.

tunibunsatinthecontrolroom—theonehehadspeciallybuiltforthe trackingofthenation'supcomingandseeminglymostdelicate presidentialelections andgazedintoaseaofpicturesthatglided throughthevideowalls:livefeedsoftheclericshehadinvited,famous butbrokemenofgod—twopastorsandtwoimams,whoallshivered onopeningtheirrespectiveparcelsofagoldfoilinvitationcardanda stackofgoldbullionandcash.whoeverinstalledthespycamsdida greatjob,tunibunthought,forhecouldcapturetheclerics'reactions clearly—thefrowns,theshivers,theshakingofheads,thepacingtoand fro,thenailbiting,thefrequentreturntotheparcel,thelonggazeat nothing,andtheeventualhandlingofthegoldbars:theykissedit;they huggedit…theyhidit. and…

godbepraised,tunibunmuttered,hispalmsclaspedinreverence youknow,god,thefuture,andwhateverliesthereforme.notIhave madethishappen;youhave.

now,oneaftertheother,asthoughrehearsed,theclergymenleftthe desks,thenthesoundofdoorshuttingrappedthroughthespeakersin

thecontrolroom.inthevideowalls,onlythemen'scorruptedstudynowlayin sight.tunibunshookhishead.muttered. no,thisisnocorruption.itisthe blessingofgodforthosewhohavebeenchosen.

the next day, the clerics arrived, one after the other, again as though in agreement.andtunibunhurriedouttousherthemin.hebowedandshook theirhands,caressingthemwithhiseyes—youarrivedearlierthanithought.all ofyou.

themenglancedatthemselves thatkindofglancethatwhispered,iseeyou're alsointhis—butnoonesaidawordtoanother.theyonlywalkedintothehall. silently. soonitstarted,thisintercessionforsuccess.

bothministerstooktheirturns.slowworshiptothegodofheaven.mellow chants.tongues.

andtunibunjoinedintheservice,hishandsclaspedtogether,heftedtowards heaven.spiritedcriesfollow,aswiththeinvocationofspirits.heswunghishead. rattleditinprayers.pulledoffhisagbada,claspedhiswaist,takingrhythmic steps.toandfro.tillprostrationsetinandcompelledhimtobidahalttothe intercession.hecrashedtotheground,hisbellycrumblingafterhisbuckling legs.thepastorscametohisrescue,oneofthemholdinghimup,theother pattinghimontheback—chief,ourgodcanseeyourdevotion.inthenameof ▇,mayyouwintheupcomingelection.

amen!

whatGodhasdeclared,noonecanerase.

amen.ibelieve.

—amen.

immediately,asthoughtiredofwaiting,theimamsswunginalyricalchant, theirbodiesswayingtotherhythm,rosaryinonehand,thebookintheother. tunibun waved them to go down. he was too tired. so they all sat, legs crisscrossedonthepolishedground,thebooksnowrestingbetweentheirlegs, rosariesstillbeingtuggedat.andtheyprayedforforgiveness.andtunibun splayedhispalmsbeforehim,swaying,answeringamen.

andwhenthey'dbecomecertainthat ▇ hadgrantedalloftheirrequests concerningtheupcomingelections,theyroundedoff.

tunibungesturedthepastorsoverandmadethemsitwiththeimams,around him thankyousomuchforhonouringmycall hesaid,hiseyesswirlingin theirsockets—mayGodhonouryou,too.

—amen.

now,hesnappedafinger,andamaninsuitbowedhisownwayoutofthehall. tunibungotup,putonhisagbada,wipedhisoilyfacewithahankie,and trappedhiseyesbehindapairofround-rimmedglasses.herepressedagrin.this isthetimetoproclaimthegospel.

camerashuttersoundsfilteredin,sizzlinglikeheatedoil,flashlightsflickeringall aroundthehall.tunibunsmiledattheclergymen.heleanedoverandtriedto helpthemuptheirfeet.buttheygotupbythemselves,battingimaginarydust offtheirbums—don'tbesurprised,saidtunibun;ifyou'reallonmyside,theni haveeverything,andgodwillbekindtome.

mrtunibun,doyouseegoddeterminingtheoutcomeoftheupcoming elections?askedareporterwhostoodintheforeofthisthrongofpressmen,

practicallyshovingarecorderintotunibun'smouth.tunibunnodded,smiling attheclergymen ifgodisforme,whocanbeagainstme?

thereporterlaughed wehopethataftertheelections,youcanrememberthese wordsandrepeatthemtoourgreatnationwithpride.

tunibunfishedouthisphonefromhisoutermostwrapofagbadaandanother maninasuithurriedtowardshim,headleaningacrosshismaster'sface.he nodded,thenhurriedout.

theprayersandvaincoveragesoonendedandthereportersbegantofadeaway exceptforacouplewhohungaround,waitingforsomesuddenspice.tunibun usheredtheclericsoutandshooktheirhandsagain.hesmileddeeplywhenone ofhisfemaleassistantsswaggeredtowardsthemholdingbunchesofcarkeys.he didn'twanttoseethelookofshockontheclerics'faces,sohewalkedawayamid shuttersounds.

phonerang.tunibunfisheditoutofhisoutermostwrapofagbada.answeredit, andhislipstwitchedinsatisfactionashelistenedtothecaller'sreport:

—hello,chief,theguysareready.alsowe'vesuccessfullydeliveredthepackageto theelectionchief.restassured,sir,wearefullyready.

tunibun nodded. turned in the direction of the departing clergymen and grinned,eyesrattlingwithjoy—indeed,prayeristhekey.

Cryingcanbecuring

Likethehalf-empty,half-fullglassofmilkgettingcoldinitsstillsurroundings. Still,itdoesn’tgiveincompletely.Itpausesataconstanttemperature.Ina similarmanner,thetearsdon’tfallabruptlyoutatonce.Theytaketheirtime wipingdownthehardshipsandthedustthefacefacedrecently.Theystroll downslowlyjustliketheendingofarom-comfloodingwiththenamesofcast andcrewcaressedwithlight-pacedviolin.

Ifallthesesimilescombinethemselves,theyformalonelynightofending November,notcompletelycoldbutstrongenoughtomakeyouholdyour handsandfeettogether,andwhenthemovieends,youfeelthearrivaloftears andyoutrytosipdownthealmostemptyglassofcoldmilk.Yourushtopick uppaperandpentowritedownwhatiswrittenabove.

ShauryaPathania,21(he/him),iscurrentlypursuinghisMastersinEnglish LiteratureatDelhiUniversity.AnaspiringwriterwholikestoreadRobert Frostinbed.HispoemsrecentlyappearedinSynchronizedChaos,FeralFeline andTheChakkar,andareupcominginWinglessDreamerAnthology.You canreachouttohim@shauryapathania__onInstagram.

Rave

Theyfollowtaillightstoforgottenplaces,wringingoutweekendsatfrayed edgesofthemap.Resonantspacesareeasytofind—Godknows,bynowthey canbuildtheirowncathedrals buttheoldmillsarebest.Thescentand soundofindustryarefamiliarthere.

Anewrhythmpulsatesinplaceofthemachinery;themilllivesagain,revived bytherelentlessheartbeatofitschildren.Theystampnewsweatintothetoilstainedfloorboards.Strobelightscatchfleetingmoments.Awestruckfaces. Outstretchedarms.

Wantwaitsintherealworld.Here,atlast,theylearnhowitfeelstoget.

ClaireNoelleSims(@ClaireNSims)isaworking-classwriterfromSwindon intheUK.HerpoetryisforthcomingintheOrigamiReview,andhershort fictionhasbeenfeaturedonBBCRadio.

TheShellofHer

Mybodyfeelslikeablackholebeingsuckedunder.Helplessanddefeatedas thepowerdrainsalltheatomsfrommybody.Mystrengthdissipatesslowly, witheveryshallowbreathItake.

Thewindshakestheleaves,soundinglikeraindropsfallingfromtheabyss above.Waitingpatientlytotakeme,holdmeforever.Ifearthere’snoescaping thefatethatawaitsme.NothingIdocanchangewhathasalreadybeen decided.

Oneaftertheother,myfeetwalkforwards,lookingbackwitheverywhisperof thetrees,everycrunchofaleaf,everyshadowthatpassesthesun.Itisnotmy bodywhichmoves;mythoughtsandfeelingsaremyownbutIamnotin controlofmymovements.

GhostssurroundmeeverywhereIturn.Tomyleft,there’sthebrokenradioof alostlover.Onmyright,there’stheshellofawomanwhooncelivedinthe depthsofthetrees.Abovemearethebirdswhoflewbutneverfoundtheir landing.AndbelowmeiswhereI’llbeheadedsoon.

Olivia(Liv)Timmins(she/her)isa22-year-oldaspiringpoetfromEngland, UK.SherecentlygraduatedwithadegreeinCreativeWriting&Media. Sheisanadmirerofoatmilkcappuccinos,HarryStyles,andnature.Her dreamwouldbetohaveherownpoetrybookpublished.Youcanfollowher instagram@cxffeebooks.

chinesesupermarkets

&yoursmilearetheonlythingskeepingmegoingthesedays. betweenaislesoffenglisu&prepackagedramen iwatchthedipsofyourfingersdrumagainstcardboardboxes&wonder howeasyitwouldbetobreakyourheart.

iamcradlingyourteenagedesirebetweenmyfingers,lettingit fillmyveinslikemorphineuntiliamdrunkonyoursweetness. here,isneakglancesatyoubehindmother’sstarchedcollar& watchthemanbehindthecounterasheservesroastduckon aplatter,theplateadornedwithslicedoranges.here, iamlisteningtoyourplaylistonloopbecauseitistheonlyway icanfityouinmypocket:asbriefflashesonaphonescreen, musicmorphingyou ’renotallowedtodateuntilcollegeinto somesemblanceofforbiddenlove. perhapswearethemodernromeoandjuliet, reducedtothesmallestofnodsasyoubagmygroceries& askfortipstodonatetothelocalchinesechurch.perhapswe aresimplysometemporarymeasureofhappiness,inevitably destinedforheartbreak,thoughi’dliketothinkthat thetwodollarsihandtoyouacrossthecounter willsufficeinhidingthegapingholeinmyheart.

GraceZhang(she/her)isahighschooljuniorfromtheUnitedStates.Her workhasbeenrecognizedintheScholasticArt&WritingAwardsand HoustonLegislativeEssayContest.SheisaneditorforPolyphonyLitandEIC ofTheLunarJournal.Besideswriting,sheenjoysmakingnewplaylistson Spotify,grapeHi-Chews,andmysterynovels.

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