Photography Caleb Ishaya Oseshi is a street and documentary photographer. He embarked on this journey of photography during the pandemic and has since never relented, with aims to tell the stories of the street with photography and proclaim hope for his future. He served as a volunteer photographer for The UNESCO World Heritage Volunteer Programme 2022 in Nigeria and also a member of The African...
JC Alfier
Collage Top: A Woman Who Doesn’t See Me Is There, She Sent Words to My Silence, She awaitsCenter: Just Shy of Her Exit, Toward Nightfall, The Gazing City VI Bottom: Scarlet Shadow, Blue Morning JC Alfier’s (they/them) most recent book The Shadow Field, was published by Louisiana Literature Press. Other books include The Wolf Yearling, (Silver Birch, 2013), Idyll for a Vanishing River (Glass...
Nadia Arioli
Drawings Top row (from left): Scramblebear, Quigglybear, Bumblebear 2 Bottom: Bumblebear 1, Thimblebear 2, Thimblebear 1 Nadia Arioli is the cofounder and editor in chief of Thimble Literary Magazine. Arioli’s poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net three times and for the Pushcart Prize and can be found in Cider Press Review, Rust + Moth, McNeese Review, Penn Review, Mom Egg Review, and...
Erika Lynet Salvador
Photography Top row (from left): The Protector, Afternoon Read, Compact Life Bottom row: Characters of Joy, Eager Anticipation, Daily Stories Erika Lynet Salvador, born and raised a Filipina, is an incoming first-year at Amherst College. Her visual art, usually using oil, watercolor, and ink, are featured or will soon be featured in *82Review, 3Elements Literary Review, Jet Fuel Review, and...
gone, here
By Jo Hooste i tried to write about gone, but my brain has been cataloging disappearance non-stop for two years. as inconsolable as a teething baby with stomach upset. i’m sorry. i can’t bear to think about all that is gone. don’t know how to stay here when i think about all that is gone. and i know i am telling and not showing, but i was at home in the void for so long and now i want to be here...
Jesus Beach Towel
By Andrew Gent They are selling Elvis on black velvet and Jesus (including the Last Supper) on a beach towel in the parking lot of an abandoned clam shack five miles from the shore. Strung on clothes lines between two telephone poles for as little as five dollars a piece, even the doubters among us can be tempted. This is our last chance, the sign says, to save big or be saved. Although the pair...
Turn
By Peggy Hammond To the woman beside me who says she’s vegetarian but delicately selects a ham sandwich for lunch, I too know confusion as friend. Once, I called myself bride but the universe slid me toward widowed, a month began in white but closed in black, tidy trick of the light. Seasons twirled past in a mad dance while I became brittle, a dry leaf dropped from a tree, lost in a dizzying...
Swipe right
By Manthipe Moila **, 26 BIO small-voiced tender-breasted tight- ly wound full of mnemonics remembers the Korean word for face by picturing a room full of *ghoulish leers speaks about home in abstractions wants love to be concrete textured-right brittle like bone left to soak in soda says soda now neat-limbed but mind the fissures mind the outbursts...
yuma
By Kathleen Boyle I went down to an inner hymn, high wrenching and reddened. The southwest. If not for this: My own skin. A comma in a thousand towns of sin. How endless the regretted. from The Atlas of My Geomorphology On the list of lost things: the tent stake, the calculator, the way down the Palisade. Rain turns to snow, cairns everywhere signal nothing: a jumble of...
Bloody Mary
By Daniel Brennan I say your name three times in the mirror then three more times Lights on or off it doesn’t matter I’m calling you in the dead of night in the hours when curiosity is as innate as spinal fluid or nightmares My teeth grind evening into bone meal as I wait for you I say your name when I know you aren’t listening How could you be? Your body moves across a...