photo by Lauren Mancke

Produce Isle
by Tara Isabel Zambrano

When I scuttle after spilled lemons, he laughs. Leaning against his mom, his black curls cover his mirthful eyes and matte finished cheeks.

I smile, feel the heart inside me.

Cramps rise. Dark liquid runs down my thighs.

Another month.

I stand still as he leaves eyeing a separated lemon.


 

the spirit moved
the birch trees
stood tall
by Timothy Gager

photo by Cole Keister

 

photo by Everton Vila

Hello Unwraps
by 
Richard Manly Heiman

the razor in a shrouded kiss—
nothing compares. Fumbling
reduced to chastity. Strangers
in quaint postures. Smooth knotted
tie, the sleeveless homespun.
Blank me and tang evaporating
taste of you. Moments borrowed
from our own extinction
promised nothing. Scents
uncurling to divinity,
your eyes were muslin keen.
How do lips ever discover lips?

(after Rene Magritte’s The Lovers)