/emily franklin

the bark edged over the woven strands/ so we cannot remove or fix it without hurting/ the tree the way you and I are/ not the same body

/ash good

later you’ll say we used every bit of/ the light & it isn’t a lie we’re still here licking our fingers

/milla van der have

because you can feel your way home/ while you can’t even feel your way out of one body/ to the next

/jeremy radin

The meadow rises like the ribs/
of a dozing animal. Furred, swollen,/
I feel it swelling

/loisa fenichell

When you asked me/ to tell you a ghost-story, it was my ancestry I thought you meant

/emma bolden

This is the mouth I use to refuse the hook/ and its feeding. What the world told me/ about my own body is that its worth/ belongs to what it can do

/audrey gidman

In a dream I am a loon impervious/ to the quick sting of water.

/jessica dionne

How she called out, wild, in the middle/ of the night. Sometimes I answered.

/jenn lee

All my teachers always smiled at me like that. I’m sure everything was abundantly apparent to all of them. I’m sure, though I thought I hid everything so perfectly and so cleanly, my body was clear, blue water.

/shannon hardwick

I liked the goat’s milk & / I want to be with her when she looks / for birds like one looks / for their God-picking stones

/miranda dennis

But in the metaphor there is a reckoning, an unleashing of imagination which posits there are other ways to live. So let’s start with a new narrative/