Poetry Winter 2022 fiction all issues
whitespacefiller
Cover
Li Zhang
Ana Reisens
Pam asked about Europe
& other poems
Krystle May Statler
To the Slow Burn
& other poems
Kristina Cecka
On Remodeling
& other poems
Belinda Roddie
Bless The Bones Of California
& other poems
Summer Rand
Alexander tells me how he'd like to be buried
& other poems
Alexander Perez
Toward the Rainbow
& other poems
Karo Ska
self-portrait of compassion…
& other poems
David Southward
The Pelican
& other poems
George Longenecker
Stamp Collection
& other poems
Mary Keating
Salty
& other poems
Talya Jankovits
Imagine A World Without Raging Hormones
& other poems
Laurie Holding
Sonnet to Mr. Frost
& other poems
David Ruekberg
A Short Essay on Love
& other poems
Elaine Greenwood
There’s a thick, quiet Angel
& other poems
Richard Baldo
Carry On Caretaker
& other poems
Jefferson Singer
Dave Righetti’s No-Hitter…
& other poems
Diane Ayer
A Fan
& other poems
Kaecey McCormick
Meditation Before Desert Monsoon
& other poems
Meg Whelan
Resubstantiation
& other poems
Katherine B. Arthaud
Possible
& other poems
Aaron Glover
On Transformation
& other poems
Anne Marie Wells
[I'm crying in a sandwich shop reading Diane Seuss' sonnets]
& other poems
Holly Cian
Untitled
& other poems
Kimberly Russo
Selective Memories are the Only Gift of Dementia
& other poems
Steven Monte
Larkin
& other poems
Mervyn Seivwright
Fear Mountain
& other poems
Karo Ska
self-portrait
with my mother’s freckle
an alabaster statue, my mother
chipped & cracked, only her left hand
still throbs with blood. underneath
the deep palmar arch, a freckle
we share. my hand is a map of
loss, a landscape of metacarpals & valley
bones, barriers blocking me from
the warmth of a mother’s unspoken
hugs. imaginary arms with no tongues.
time passes—freckles fade—i carry her
smile cleaved—time passes
she vanishes
the freckle—a shadow—a ghost
whose name i have lost
in the geography of my memory.
self-portrait of compassion as
contradictions necessary for healing
you put the pen down / you pick it up / you get out of bed / you don’t get out of bed / you don’t listen to your body / you breathe space into muscles / you walk / your toes leave crimson trails / you don’t write a poem / you write a poem for everyone / you don’t read the poem to anyone / your anxiety cave keeps you safe / you sign up for an open mic / spill merlot ink on the stage / you let yourself be late / you leave the house early / you make a mistake / you don’t blame yourself / you don’t take a shot of tequila before work / you sneak a flask to class / a friend you love texts you heart emojis / you don’t answer the phone / you brush teeth then floss / you don’t breathe / you hold your inner child’s hand / you cartography a new map / the cardinal directions aren’t smeared in blood / you follow footprints of cinnamon / honey soothes your wounds / you remind yourself one day at a time / you put the pen down / you pick it up
Karo Ska
(she/they) is a South Asian and Eastern European gender-fluid poet living on unceded Tongva land. Their writing focuses on identity, mental health, survivorship, and the intersections of trauma and politics. Anti-authoritarian and anti-capitalist, they find joy where they can. Their first full-length collection, loving my salt-drenched bones was released in February 2022 through World Stage Press. For updates, follow them on instagram @karoo_skaa or check out their website karoska.com.