issue 4

The River

I myself should never have been born

things they won’t tell you but should:

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

Caricature of B. Lovely

I point my camera towards B. Lovely and she is sitting on the curb.

Landscape with Ash

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

The Runaways

Taking photographs of my hometown has given me a chance to reflect on people whom I have not valued.

First Boyfriend

I run with a pack of older boys from our neighborhood, the only girl.

The Sweetness

I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.

The Shiksa Choice

The hamantaschen have followed us from apartment to apartment, all of the kitchens dark, cramped, cluttered.

Good Driver

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”


Through the dusty window in my parent’s bedroom, I watched the neighbor’s cattle graze.

Me and Other Bodily Accessories

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

if detritus is all i’m made up of

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

Sadness is a Sin

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

The Body is a Sin

The sin is existing.

I waited

Shadows and psychological metaphors are favored photographic subjects for me.


If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray


She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?

Here in East Greenwich

He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.


Jenna says that he typically goes for redheads, so I run to Target and buy a box of hair dye.