After Jennifer S. Cheng 1: the sea captured in a glass 2: a homophone for having enough for leftovers, a synonym for abundance 3: the fish, who have already forgotten you. It’s not personal 4: where memory fails, there’s still imagining 5: you. Not as an ocean but outside 6: glass and/or acrylic
Read MoreTHIS IS NOT A RIDDLE What’s that old joke about the snake that wasn’t a snake? Or was it a pipe?
in a world where silkworms turn in the wind, into mothswith prodigious hunger & no mouths, where you are possible even the most
We spent our state tax refundon an inflatable hot tub, a bottle of peach wineand a couple filets of Alaskan salmon. Also— a bundle of asparagusI picked up at a carport farm
Eben E. B. Bein (they/he) is a biology-teacher-turned-climate-justice-educator at the nonprofit Our Climate. They were a 2022 Fellow for the Writing By Writers workshop and winner of the 2022 Writers Rising Up
My goddesses tell me that before i bow down and pray, imust kneel and heed i must kneedand heed the answers that becomemogras in the mouths of maa kali a world you
Woke up to shy blue//Thought about praying//Forgot how to//Kept my hands pressed together anyway//Drank half a pot of coffee//Used extra cream because my mouth//Wanted to feel as full as it does holding
Alone as I am, the spirits waft in. The invisible reunion tingles my finger pads. I spread my arms like flying; give me your weight. A tarot spread asks to know you,
Deep in the crow boned blue onslaught certain plumes are apostles intoned to the skyfall with heavy luring I promised silkworms beetroots or a love poem for letting me murder winged-nomads Told
Why make it easy, as you say, a scar to sooth a runawayunadorned by ink or stitch, just its function,to make no sudden moves, to empty me out,to be unseen, bone-dry, as
Every artist that has come through this town has paintedthis warbled church, made to look like the rock formationsin the distance, made to look like God. I am lousy at anything but