Poetry
by Rowan Tate
i have a peach in my hands like a bee sting, the crescent of her cheek soft. somewhere on green mountains, dirt layers. she tells me not to tell her ...read the full piece >>Short Story
by Sreelekha Chatterjee
Samima rolls the dough and creates perfectly round chapattis. It would have been wonderful if life were as easy as preparing chapattis and not like a ...read the full piece >>Flash Nonfiction
by Magdalena Olszanowski
My son and I dip our summer legs in the shallow end of Parc Jarry's swimming pool. Impatient feet speed up around us, ready to jump into the water. ...read the full piece >>Poetry
by Lise Reingruber
Sestina Instructions for traveling to the underworld you hold a lion on a leash, you are a dove a Venus, the morning and evening star you open your ...read the full piece >>Poetry
by Veronica Vo
the lord cut her open in a white coat wanting nothing but legacy, on a bright Texas morning to remind us where the horizon lay. I was something small ...read the full piece >>Poetry
by Alan Palacios
where the flesh of jacarandas shifts across the invisible layers cosmic fabrics tear return us (to) the land like a miraged plateau hidden within our ...read the full piece >>Short Story
by Murali Kamma
The first time he saw Jagan was during an improvised cricket game in the spacious courtyard of an ancient, weather-beaten but stately house owned by ...read the full piece >>Essay
by Bora Hah
“Your name becomes a song that flows in my heart. If I follow the water, will I get near you?” ― Kim Yuna, River I. HIM News of his death arrived in ...read the full piece >>Short Story
by Delight Ejiaka
The banner for the Enyimba F.C. vs. Osun United match swayed with the wind as Obiora and Ekene approached the Thomas Balogun Stadium. Young boys sold ...read the full piece >>Flash Nonfiction
by Parvathy J
I tell stories. It could be anyone, we could be anywhere, doing anything. After hours and days of debating in inner monologues, when I feel safe ...read the full piece >>Flash Fiction
by Philipp Scheiber
I am Galatea. Somewhat. Not hewn from stone but forged, cast — my hot potential poured into some form that’s been made for me — no! Not even for me , ...read the full piece >>Essay
by Serafina Ferizaj
The smell of armpit sweat and unbrushed teeth are so dominant in the car, I can’t stand them anymore. My legs are asleep but I can't stretch them: The ...read the full piece >>Short Story
by Katariina Mauranen
Alone in the dark, I let my hand grasp the blankets on the empty side of the bed. I let myself sigh that long, broken sigh I’ve been holding back all ...read the full piece >>Flash Fiction
by Edvige Giunta
I met my father, diagnosed with a malattia innominata , at the border between Hades and La Merica. On his back he carried a burlap sack of half-told ...read the full piece >>Flash Nonfiction
by Margarita Beatriz Escobar
I approached the open casket and leaned over to kiss my grandfather’s forehead. He wore his old dark suit, a white shirt, and a small red carnation in ...read the full piece >>Essay
by Asya Akimzhanova
to Apasha ... I needed a different language: a language that was a place of affection and reflection. — Antonio Tabucchi on Friday I had my first ...read the full piece >>Essay
by Bella Majam
My first brush with psychiatric hospitalization, I often joke, was a prelude to my sweet sixteenth. There are a few things you can only learn once ...read the full piece >>Flash Fiction
by Klau Stepien
Punk is what you pull out of your sleeve and wave in the air until the scent of it floats around and hits your nostrils at one… two… sniff! It makes ...read the full piece >>Poetry
by Dianna Vega
did you ever hear of a girlmaker? they pour glass in molds of sugar, skin, and skull. they measure your outline with a fatal lack of precision, as ...read the full piece >>Poetry
by Lajward Zahra
Wretched past refuses me, will not swallow the pain from the present. Suctions, the way you did. Saliva on my ant bites adding to the itch like the ...read the full piece >>Short Story
by Sahil Mehta
1. Squeal. Shriek. Skid, skid. The cars stop dramatically in front of Chez Henri. An undulating soundtrack of wailing sirens prevails over the ...read the full piece >>Poetry
by Susanne Sophie Schmalwieser
we’ve been speaking since january or so and now the trees are growing flowers mostly pinks and whites i tell you how the hills in Morocco rest soft ...read the full piece >>Short Story
by C. C. Thybro
I want to leave. Though perhaps calling it a want makes it seem paltry, when in truth it’s a need . Like fresh air, water and other people. But ...read the full piece >>Essay
by Nandita Dutta
My huge bay windows frame the constant flow of traffic, the blood gushing through the veins of the city, up and down, in all directions, oxygenating, ...read the full piece >>Supported by:
