No Contact: Closing Time
Love On The Weekend
by Shannon Wolf
The concrete was grinding underneath our shifting feet, we were stopping and starting between the abandoned cartons of doner meat on the ground, shunting and spilling their slaw.
Flavors of Wealth
by Lucy Zhang
She asked my mom ten years ago to bring Lancôme makeup from the United States. At the time, I didn’t realize you wore makeup outside of stage performances. Now she has a husband who can buy her brand name goods—my mom doesn’t know what to bring anymore for the next visit to China.
Four Spells
by Molly Zhu
He falls asleep on the morning
she reaches him. Instead, she
calls an Uber. Instead,
she’s being swallowed
by traffic.
It’s Yours
by D.T. Robbins
It’s 1 a.m. My son comes into my room, tells me he can’t sleep.
I go, “Why can’t you sleep?”
He shrugs, “I don’t know. Something’s wrong with my brain.”
“What part of your brain?”
He points to a place on his brain.
Four Poems
by KB Brookins
While the industry of death–
political parties blaming bigotry on the innocent–
tries to lock our bodies under dirt,
we sign and seal ourselves
to god.
Highway Elegy
by Liza Stewart
The well, the strip mine, the grain co-op, the garment factory, the mobile New York City morgues will be left behind or begin again. The burger will say I am here it is now you are a body and you are alive.
Crocodile Tears
by Michael Chang
it’s not
the first time
my mother
has yelled
“ whale !!! ”
at brendan fraser
Conversation Partner
by Ross Showalter
“I think someone I know is dead,” I tell the ASL interpreter after the shift ends, when we are about to go our separate ways for separate bus rides home. “We haven’t spoken in a while. I bought a Ouija board because I want to talk with him.”
What Is a Trans Woman?
by Zoa Coudret
when you consider she’s medium
and message, ancient and new, born
of recycled parts, no wonder they don’t all work
the way she wants—you can’t expect perfection
for any of nature’s bodies—yet she’s here,
she’s made it, baby!
The Descent of Man
by Mike Nagel
My dad said that in the last weeks of his life, my grandfather went from eating solid food to eating baby food to eating nothing at all. A whole life in reverse. It reminded me of a poster I'd seen once, done in the style of those human evolution drawings. On the left side was a baby in its cradle. On the right side was an old man in his grave. In the middle was a man standing upright, in the prime of his life.
