Idol | Poetry

Topaz Winters

The god is wrapped in a blue towel. Mascara clumping their lashes. On the bathroom floor, a dozen Q-tips hemmed with waterproof eyeliner. The man is coming in an hour & they are trying to look as fuckable as possible when he photographs them for his shrine. The god is changing the bandages around their torso. The god is wearing noise-canceling headphones trying to drown out the devotees. Before they...

Taylor Swift | Poetry

Ellie Black

Hail our rift Jailer’s gift Tailor’s weft Trail or sift Paler wife Mailed or missed Sailor oft Failed or kissed Wailer wept Bail or drift Tail her deft Ailer’s grift Sail her left Nail her shift Whale has left Whaler miffed Gale you swept Tempest lift Save our ship Days are ripped Failure left Gave short shrift Say bereft Say be with

Past Tense | Our Historical Fiction Hang-Ups

David Schurman Wallace

The historical novel isn’t cool. Popular? Yes. Enduring? Yes. A bit, well — for nerds? Also yes. Coolness lies in being at the right place at the right time, particularly before everyone else — in possessing a sensitivity to the zeitgeist. This grasp of the bleeding edge, crucial to literature considered broadly countercultural, is used by writers (in a downtown bar, or up in a garret) to make history, not...

The Wolf Man | Fiction

Caroline Gioiosa

I met the Wolf Man at a pool hall in Point Reyes last summer. Under the sickly bar lights, his face looked scrambled, like a Cubist collage — one eye higher than the other, an uneven nose, a mouth that could swallow a fist. I’d arrived alone on a Thursday night, after driving a half hour north from my parents’ beach house on the mesa. The Wolf Man was the...

Unfathomably Deep | Fiction

Sophie Madeline Dess

I know indeed what evil I intend to do, But stronger than all my afterthoughts is my fury, Fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils. — Euripides’s Medea, 431 B.C.E. Three men were supposed to spread me open, check me out. One of the men was late. The other two began without him. The room was hot and forbidding. As the men locked me in my stirrups, they told...

An Apology | Poetry

Robert Wood Lynn

I awoke. You weren’t there but there were horses on the beach. I got up, made believe nothing hurt and my evidence was horses on the beach even though the beach horses were remarkably indifferent to the thrill of horses on the beach. I went about my day. I went for a run in the surf. The horses only sauntered, heads slung low as an apology. With my long hair...

“The Impossible Is Always Happening” | An Interview with Saree Makdisi

The Drift

Since October 7, as Israel has attacked the Gaza Strip, young people at colleges across the country have led protests in solidarity with the people of Gaza and in support of a cease-fire. In the halls of Congress and the newspapers of record, around television sets and holiday tables, these protests ignited a set of secondary debates: about free speech, slogans, anti-Semitism, and the concept of debate itself. To help...

Shed Light | Poetry

Michael D. Snediker

Argo ergo an ego in the rye & once only once he laughs at the sun. Paired into alibis, asking a lot then (steadily) a little less. Stripped down to my funny little hip & a watercolor fuss waving it away. His lower tone, before being asked to cope wherever the kite gone missing sailed into the suffering branch. A furnace of settled hours. & the vision of a sudden...

You Made a List of What You Wanted from the Earth | Poetry

Robert Wood Lynn

and I wasn’t on it. RASPBERRIES appeared twice. I am grateful to know you well enough to understand this wasn’t by accident. You listed SLEEPING IN right above MORNING GLORIES, your own way of including SITTING WITH CONTRADICTION which would be on mine. Maybe the only item. Or maybe not — there’s you and the poems of Catherine Barnett and also I like the color of morning glories but not...

carrion | Poetry

Nicole Adabunu

the dead deer we saw on the way to your place, brain knitted wet outside its chest, once lighthouse twice blooded, pulse instinct. a body shot out of its head quarters. every car’s a fan tonight, slowing to watch a heartbeat unheat itself. who do we rot back to? steel aluminum stare, ants crawling the iced unblinking. the radio’s playing a song about getting undressed. wanting someone down to the...