POETRY
Plastic Bag from Corner Store Laments the Self
By Aliyah Cotton
When they finally find me
My Grandfather, the Metalworker
By Avi Nguyen
Blesséd be his hands, wrought
with steel and iron, dusted with ash.
His days were endless,
Away in Boston, Riding the Green Line
By Aaron Caycedo-Kimura
I’m not home / to mow the grass
The Fall Of
By Avi Nguyen
What matters is
That we already knew this was over I don’t really see a point in continuing
This conversation.
The Ingredient
By Ayla Goktan
Every bird poem sends me
to the same place: the cliff
miles past the petrol station
where my ex and I bought coffee
on our way to Dunmore Head.