The Arrest, in all its surreal narrative trappings, supercars, and Hollywood theatrics, wants to know if words can save us in a dystopia.
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Jaimeson Oakley (He/They) is a trans/queer writer from the hills of Lucasville, Ohio. He is currently a poetry student of the Northeastern Ohio MFA creative writing program at Kent State University. They
Winner of the Sonora Review Issue 80 Fiction Contest, selected by Lydia Millet Holly’s pee sounded like voices. She used to think it was just the noise it made hitting the toilet,
Winner of the Sonora Review Issue 80 Nonfiction Contest, selected by Melissa Faliveno “My first reaction to most things is, ‘Fuck this, fuck you, this is bullshit,’” I said. My therapist blinked.
It arrives on my doorstep and I unbox the thing like it’s radioactive, and for all I know, it could be. The wonders of modern medicine are beyond me, and bad news
I. After six years of dating, after your fourth breakup with Tall Glass of Water, the water heater explodes and floods your things, the things you have finally moved from your coveted storage unit
The skin on my thumb is worn and beginning to blister. It has been pressed hard against the metal edge of the hose since noon, desperate to make water come out faster,
The first girl I kissed pushedme against the serrated brickssame color as her busted lip.Transfer student. Eyes familiar withdarkness akin toMidwestern stormcell—the untitled blue I like best. I counted the seconds aftershe
my last meal as a girl I dined onsnow. the sky snared my teethbut everyone pretended not to see. the snow was luminous and wet.a blue cat pooled in the eyes ofthe
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was as of yet undefined. The Word had freckles across the bridge of her nose that only showed up in the sunshine, and
It does not matter if you’re rich in life, As long as you’re rich in heaven. My father, in heaven, smokes Camels. In the spirit months we feast together.Mother plates chicken cutlet, fish soup, Sticky