the incline up barkly street’s a killer
i ride my bike home w a backpack full of custard apples and a butterfly makes its way straight into my mouth why am…
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Magic Fingers
Roger doesn’t know that Kaitlin has magic fingers. He looks at them, entwined in his own, and thinks they are just regular girl fingers….
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Don’t @ Me (An Interior Monologue): April
Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a cis, demisexual woman navigating the world in a nontraditional body? In this ongoing column,…
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Galentines
why are all the women I know beautiful smart & nursing longing like a fine whiskey it is valentine’s day & people who think…
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Beyond & Within
Aliens aren’t real in the sense that nothing is real. The only thing you can be certain of knowing is your own mind. “I…
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No Saints
Ainslee Meredith is a poet, paper conservator and PhD student at the University of Melbourne. Her first collection of…
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A Working Family
The mother told the child to ask the father if the child’s friend could come over tomorrow so that the two children could finish…
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A Quiet Year
Diagram these bodies of the old order. They carried us to the shoreline, but no more. The bodies tell us they are frightened in…
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POLLYANNA-ISH I: JUST BREATHING ISN’T LIVING
Pollyanna-ish is a column about the process of becoming (undefinable). Exploring the intersection between life and art, these essays will explore and intermingle different aspects…
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