Latest Articles

  • Spice Ain’t White

    by Roosha Mandal

    “Alphabet, alphabet, alphabet soup:/ the clear, viscous drizzle singes my taste buds/ and my tongue yearns for/ clove, cardamom, and a country of colorful saris.”

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  • Warm

    by Seth Parente

    Sunflower seeds sit salty against my cheek
    Teeth cracking the shells
    Warm and sharp
    Broken pieces on my tongue
    A burnt taste of nostalgia

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  • Constellations

    by Trevor Moffa

    Pockmarks in the Pittsburgh dark
    Midnight oil burning portals open
    Like potholes in the empty streets
    Peopled apartments, blocks of offices
    Being cleaned for morning, light
    Left on in a hurry

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