Almost Home
Sometimes we cried from exhaustion, the unknowns of the pandemic, and the suffocating feeling of loving a person so much you wanted to climb into their mouth.
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ReadThe Space Without Name
You had no intention of ringing the bell, acting as if nothing had happened, as if five years were enough time to fill the emptiness she left behind. -
ReadRadical Futurity
How do we enact the kind of expansive futuring that can chart a path to an otherwise world? -
ReadEditor’s Note
For this issue, we are examining the building blocks that make up our society and considering how to dismantle them so that we might create anew. -
ReadThe Chicken for Dinner
In this implantation there is thick blood / so red it sings to black, so viscous it could be shaped / in the hands like clay. -
ReadLove Letter to M
It’s two in the morning, and I remember what my grandmother warned me about again and again: “It’s the hour of ‘ushimitsu doki.’” -
Readan atlas for winter
how can I love like this, / eating the bones of the sun, / its corpse of light, its flammable horizons— -
ReadOn Inheritance
What if, when you ran your fingers along the embroidery, you could hear the voices of your ancestors? -
ReadAPI requests for present dystopia
Weather lights a mouth as vines drink sun in windowed rooms, / but I lied before. -
ReadPorch Pull Up Ep. 204
“Tinkering a Way, Together: An Interview with Plastivap Inventor Mirukosee Balan” -
ReadSpell to Be Said Against Anxiety
Until the fodder of the fraught mind becomes the burnable legs of a useless table, / fuel only for compassion. -
ReadThe Ones Who Walk Away
The sinking feeling trailed me as I worked my way around the room: There’d been a precious opening, and I’d wasted it. -
Read“Bwah-ju-yoh.”
In my writing, my father is ‘Dad,’ because I need this less intimate address as a buffer from what I have lost, left behind, or perhaps never even had. -
ReadProtest Song in Six Verses
Blue ash of skin between the rubble, a child’s body buried beneath concrete, these images are stitched beneath my eyelids, stuck. -
ReadLetter to My Future Archeologist
Don’t they warn you against the misfortune / of unveiling desiccated bones to your green / sky?