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“The Ladies of the Hour”, “Yawn” and “Not Yours”

Poetry Issue Nine by Annie Burdick

The Ladies of the Hour The ladies sit in rigid chairs, hands crossed in skirt-covered laps. A silent room made loud by expectations. Miss Understanding smiles [knowingly] but never speaks. She fears the labels- foolslutbitchuselesswoman- but can’t live with the judgement. Miss Take quietly steals bagels and donuts from the untouched serving trays sitting in the back of the room. Miss Behavior watches and frowns, though secretly envious and so …

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“The Orient Mine”

Poetry Issue Nine by Barry Silesky

Smoked oysters, red wine, and Darla’s brown skin open to air in the middle of changing her shirt. I’m drinking whiskey, playing old songs— the one about the girl we want, the one who left. The woman outside watching the fire she built might not be as pretty, but her white dress and black hair dance in these mountains. The railroad strike is over, the harvest is coming north. All …

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“A Calling”, “Something Sexier than Foxes” and “Gentle Bonfire”

Poetry Issue Nine by Aya Elizabeth

A Calling The sunrise burns us up. It’s been a long night and nothing has been refused or taken back. All of our friends are stealing night terrors from the cracks in the walls. We have kingdoms melting in our pockets. We have trails of crushed cherry blossoms threaded through each rib. We’re reading The Ethical Slut and hitting on German lawyers. In the Dutch winter the parallel scars on …

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“Saint Sylvia”, “The Weight of Memory” and “Prayer Slippers”

Poetry Issue Nine by Yania Padilla Sierra

Saint Sylvia Mark him for the amniotic writ as he stands before me, pockets full of stones. My weightlessness will not prevent his sinking. The half-hearted are heavy. The one before him was full of lead, a crown of bullets worn as life preserver. Seeking Daddy’s meridian eye he fell down. Sank. The brute jelly fish. I draw them, grim-faced men, like the moon. Pitiable poets who fashion garnet daggered …

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“Millennial….”, “I’ve Paid in Full” and “The G.O.A.T. goes to?”

Poetry Issue Nine by Kristin Hunt

We have tattoos and an impeccable work ethic, They do not know where to put us. Our faith should be in the old system, In white male hood we trust. I drink. I curse. I go to work it doesn’t slow me down. “I’m a vegan.” I shit 4x a day. (No, not really) I see no time any day to rest or just lay. I could blame the whole …

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