Summer for Peaches

by Seth Amos I like summer for peaches, not for humid, breezeless days. July 28, 2019, 11:10 a.m.,Brooklyn, I ate one.Eating a peach requires planningor rogue carelessness.I ate this one over the sink,shirtless, waitingfor the coffee to percolate.My teeth pierced its cropped fuzzand perfumed flesh. Juice camelike a watering mouth, drippingdown my arm and plunkingintoContinue reading “Summer for Peaches”

Evening bike ride to San Antonio Juanacaxtle

by Lisa López Smith There are the last whispers of the jacarandas’ pale purple glow,fields faded, the soil freshly turned.There are the houses half eaten alive—naked, brooding & dark,and the gusty roarblinking back tearson the downhill.Past the Cataluña gas station where the white stone colossus,Christ the Redeemer-style, has outstretched arms to embracethe Pemex gas pumpsContinue reading “Evening bike ride to San Antonio Juanacaxtle”


by Grace Li Every year the ladybug migrationwould pass through my father’s housewhere hundreds would trapthemselves in the cozyof our sunstreamed attic,tucked away with thewinter coats and pressed intopages of report cards.Every year my father would takethe phonebookfrom the kitchen cabinetwhere he kept all the billsand call a white manwho, every year, would leave ourContinue reading “Rehabitation”