Part elegy, part prayer, part epistolary masterpiece—Amy Rose Lafty’s “My Father Is a Crab Nebula” is as littered with love and grief as the galaxy is replete with stars. You won’t soon find a more intimate glimpse into the cosmic transcendence of a life lost too soon—and the mourning that comes from being left behind.

Inspired by solitary nature walks, Joanne’s immersive digital exhibit delves into the nonlinear journey of returning to the self through their connection with nature.

Every time I look up, it’s still there – the skeleton of the once bustling village where my / father grew up.

Begin with a name.

The summer before I published my first — and so far, only — book, my husband Alonso and I finally saved enough money and time to spend a week in Paris.

Every poem I write opens with a parent. How else / do I bless the ones that birthed me?

We sit across from each other to play the game Othello.

In the house is a horse, or the house itself is a horse.

in the beginning there were no lines no markers of where & what belong to whom / or why

Still dark out when my father pulls / the trigger.

the mother circulates through Berlin’s arteries, / smacking through streets and bike lanes until a / DHL worker delivers her to my front door.

soundtrack: fall in love (remix), slum village / because it just might, / i dance like my life depends on it.

Mixed media artist Ellen Wiener on the featured art for issue 16.

I said goodbye to my father for the first and last time, after his death, in the quietest place in the United States.

He owns seven New Balance shoes, all rights / that have lost in this house their one-time partners.