Prose

How to Hold a Ghost Without Breaking
There are no manuals for this. No step-by-step instructions for hands learning to carry what is no longer here. But if there were, they would look something like this:
By Alain SUPPINIabout a year ago in Poets
I Once Thought That Love ...
I once thought that love was just a feeling. Bubbly and bubble gum pink; Frills, furs and even fetishes. A passive possum playing dead to problematic poison; refusing to acknowledge the possible price of pride.
By Idara Oghogho about a year ago in Poets
The Law of the Waffle House
This is the law of the highway’s glow, Of the neon beacon where the night-shifters go; It is written in grease and it’s shouted in steam,
By Jacob Herrabout a year ago in Poets
Queue is a Ridiculous Word
Queue is a ridiculous word Its one letter followed by four silent others Perhaps that makes sense The one in the front is ordering
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
The Vanishing Man and the Spiral Dispatch
The Moment of Knowing I spiraled through the dream, back and forth, feather to flame, scroll to mirror. I kept saying it,
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
The Library of Things Left Unsaid
They say every word you swallow builds a shelf inside you. At first it is small—just a ledge where a single sentence rests, unsent, unopened. But silence has gravity, and soon more phrases arrive: hurriedly hidden confessions, letters never sent, truths choked back before they could bloom.
By Alain SUPPINIabout a year ago in Poets
A Morning Day in the Life of the Pink Lady
A Morning Day in the Life of the Pink Lady This isn’t just a day, it’s a sonic diary wrapped in pink sheets and browser haze. Welcome to the myth of the Pink Lady. This is partly truth and fiction in The Pink Series.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
You were the warmth of my December. Runner-Up in This Is How I Remember It Challenge.
The day you left, you handed me a wishbone, and I still don’t know what meant more — that you saved it for me, or that I really thought I had a chance.
By Dabout a year ago in Poets
What’s in a Name?
Don’t worry You’re not to blame For I have gone by many a name Three last names Just my first Just my last Sometimes a man, sometimes a woman
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Cartography of Invisible Wounds
There are maps no one teaches you to read. They are not printed on paper, not charted in atlases, not sold in libraries or museums.
By Alain SUPPINIabout a year ago in Poets
DENIM PSALMS(OUTSTAGES CAFE PRODUCTION)
“By the power of plush sheets, protest chants, and outlaw harmonics, I initiate this vessel. May it stream memory, sanctify chaos, and sing in denim.”
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
Aquarius
Thighs quaking Knees shaking Carrying my jar of clay everyday Arms locked in desperation Imperceptible fatigue as my ribs dig into my spleen
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets