Kayla Czaga Do you remember the baseball diamond beside which we ate naanwich, Liz? It tasted nothing like butter chicken. We’d wandered all morning without eating and hunger revealed to us the aggression in nearby seagulls. I loved your light lisp, how softly you smelled of vegetable broth. I...
by Kathleen Fraser Jia Qing Wilson-Yang is an author and musician whose writing has appeared in Bound to Struggle: Where Kink and Radical Politics Meet (ed. Simon Strikeback), Letters Lived: Radical Reflections, Revolutionary Paths (ed. Sheila Sampath), and Room magazine, and Metonymy Press...
Greg Marshall Only after Dad broke his neck diving into the ocean in Hawaii did we start playing tennis together. Partly, this was a matter of timing. I was ten at the time of the accident; Dad was forty-two. More importantly, though, it was a matter of handicapping. It took Dad fracturing his top...
Meaghan Rondeau 1999 I announce that I don’t want kids. My mom’s reply: “You’ll change your mind when you’re older. Life is meaningless—” She actually says this! I shit you not! Meaningless! “—without children.” Years later, I tell her that remark still bothers me. She says, “I never said that.”...
Reviewed by Adam Holman In Andy Sinclair’s debut novel Breathing Lessons, he writes about how people “should do what they want,” whether in hookups or matters of the heart. We are forced to contemplate the repercussions, and Sinclair guides us with a precise assurance, taking us, along with its...
Julian Paquette My masculinity is red and hot, excited and vibrant—a body that’s been too long ignored. An acutely sensitive organ of denial. My masculinity is tight and wants to loosen. I can feel the tension of repression against it. I can feel myself opening to my man. My voice lowering; my...
