When she heard the child cry out,
her right arm jerked to a grotesque angle,
fingers splayed and froze.
She dragged her twisted right leg,
foot curled inward, as she limped
across the floor.

From its crib, the child reached out perfect arms,
kicked its bare feet against the bars,
insistent like a ragged shutter
on a windy night.

With her left hand, she squeezed rigid
fingers into a fist, bent her shoulders
and gently scooped the child with her forearms.
Gurgling, the child nuzzled against her neck.

She crooned a lullaby of lemon trees
and goat bells tinkling,
the music of laughter
of shoes dancing, hands clapping
to the beat of the tarantella.

In this way Rosalita taught the child
how to make its body sing.

First published in Out of Line, 2003 and the author’s book, Down to the Quick (Plain View Press, 2007)

I have heard we are like onions,
the layers
not the smell or taste

but I say often all three,

we are stripping away translucence
in order to be more real
and more small

one membrane at a time

but the sores get worse over the week
the browning basement carpet cannot make
a diagnosis.

Will we always be healing something?

Making balms for our
onion skin,

brushing the inevitable
volatile oils from the knife, from
the eyes.

also like fruit, we look wonderful
mauve-lipped with the fanatic approval
of our selves

red berries used to dye skin, naturally

I stopped taking It because
the doctor doesn’t know my innards
the way I know them

and so fuck him.


Author Bio:
Lauren Lockhart is a working student living in Seattle, Washington. Her writing naturally gravitates towards themes of nature, women, healing and subversions of the status quo. Her work has appeared in Minerva Rising, Canary and The Hourglass.

They say, “It’s okay to be different,” but have they not realized that the time of using “WHITES ONLY!” and “BLACKS ONLY!” signs has come and gone, but it doesn’t mean our racism has gone along with it. We still have a hard time accepting differences. We still have an easy time saying it’s okay to have these differences.
They say, “It’s okay to be you. Just be yourself.” I am quiet. If it’s okay to be quiet, why does it feel so wrong in a world that’s so loud? I am a loner. If it’s okay to be a loner, why does it hurt so much to sit mostly alone during lunchtime? I don’t show much skin, due to insecurities. If it’s okay not to show skin, why does it make me feel like an outsider when everyone around me wears tank tops and shorts?
They say, “School is important. Excelling academically is great.” If people care so much about school, why am I called a nerd, when all I do is care about school, too?
They say, “Family is important.” If someone spends a large amount of time with their family, like their parents, they are deemed uncool by society. If family is important, why do they call a certain amount of familyness uncool?
They say, “That is not cool.” If that is not “cool”, why is she (over there) doing “uncool” things, and yet, still managing to be “cool”?
They say, “Reading books is not cool,” but she reads books and no one calls her uncool.
They say, “Don’t act weird,” but weird is what she acts, and no one calls her weird or looks at her funny.
They say, “Perfection is impossible.” If perfection is impossible, why does Hollywood and society keep feeding us the idea of perfection? The perfect house, the perfect school, the perfect looks, the perfect boyfriend.
They say, “Love yourself and don’t change.” If I’m supposed to love myself, even with extra pounds, why do they glorify weight loss and bikini bodies by constantly running these types of TV commercials?
They say, “You’re too young.” How can they know whether I’ve grown up or not, if it’s a mental thing? Can they see into my mind?
They say, “The only dumb question is the one not asked.” I just asked you a question not too long ago, and you looked at me like either I was dumb, or the question was dumb. I don’t know which.
They say, “Stop being a hypocrite.” I say, “We’re all hypocrites, in some way or another.”
They say, “You are a teenager. Teenagers this and teenagers that.” I say, “No, I am not a teenager. I am just a human being. I am just a person growing each and every day in ways only a person could.”
They say.


Author Bio:
Mariel Arriola lives in her home state of Minnesota. She will be a high school senior in the fall, but will also be earning college credits at a local community college and the University of Minnesota. She is unsure of what she will major in, but knows she will remain a writer for life. Since she wrote her very first stories, which were about dinosaurs, back in the fourth grade, Mariel has had a passion for the world of literature. She has had plenty of pleasant experiences with literature from loyally reading the 25 book-long “From the Files of Madison Finn” series, staying up late reading fan fiction about her favorite TV shows, writing a short story about a chlorophyll super heroine, to constantly imagining expansive fictional worlds and characters. She aspires to publish at least one novel for young adults – no matter if it is vampire-themed, retro, or about comas. She has more than 100 pictures of her cat on her iPod Touch, craves for smoothies, and enjoys yoga.

She just got a pussy pass, he said, because
no guy could have gotten away with that

so it’s a pussy pass to defend ourselves
from legislation passed against our bodies

in a world where the bright futures of rapists
are grieved by news anchors at six o’clock sharp

and those who stand against injustice
risk weightier punishment

than the men
who think women

are just getting a pussy pass
for not being willing to fuck

every man who thinks sex is a gumball that’s owed to them
after putting two nice-guy coins into the girl-machine

if it’s a pussy pass to fight back
I’m going swipe the whole pad and forge your fucking signature

so I can finally walk the halls when I want to
and feel safe

*This piece was created as a part of Accents Publication's Lexington Poetry Project, a poem-a-day challenge during the month of June that involved over 50 poets creating new work daily.


Author Bio:
Allie Marini Batts is an MFA candidate at Antioch University of Los Angeles, meaning she can explain deconstructionism, but cannot perform simple math. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Her chapbook, "You Might Curse Before You Bless" was published in 2013 by ELJ Publications, and her second chapbook, "Unmade & Other Poems," is forthcoming from Beautysleep Press. Find her on the web: https://www.facebook.com/AllieMariniBatts?ref=hl or https://www.facebook.com/YouMightCurseBeforeYouBless

When we put your father in the ground,
I really learned to live with leaving. He always
broke my heart – You, walking out on me again. All you

bring me back is a bone. A bone … but that’s
because I guarded my heart. My ribs stayed
crossed over it, white bone over water. Now,

he sleeps like strawberries, like asparagus, and birds
near his quiet eyes. I’ve tasted shame and want,
their sour and bitters still on my tongue: You

say I deny how I’ve lived, that I won’t account
properly for my stubbornness. Do bindweeds,
beautiful with purple trumpet-flowers that close

to sleep at twilight, apologize for choking plain
bean plants or dusty potatoes? We’re all touched
by the light: an eye for an eye, ashes to ashes, my

dust mingles with yours. You’d want me to say,
Go free. Turn toward the sun. Kiss the wind. Take
flight. But you’re just like your father: My life is a scarred

field. Go, turn away, marigold seeds scattering in autumn.
This prayer or that one, to burn me out of your body.
There will be no seat for me at your table. You’ve never

asked me what I wanted. God have mercy on your soul:
Yes, I would have chosen another life if I was present
at my beginning.


Author Bio:
Nicole Rollender’s poetry and nonfiction have been published in various literary magazines, including Alaska Quarterly Review, Creative Nonfiction, Dark Matter Journal, Enizagam, The Kenning Journal, Literary Mama, Princemere Poetry Journal, Ruminate Magazine, Salt Hill Journal, the strange fruit, Third Wednesday and The Whirlwind Review. She’s the winner of Ruminate Magazine’s 2012 Janet B. McCabe poetry prize for her poem, “Necessary Work,” which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She also won Princemere Poetry Journal’s 2012 Princemere’s Poetry Prize for her poem, “Quickening.” Her poetry chapbook Arrangement of Desire was published by Pudding House Publications in 2007. Nicole, who has an MFA in creative writing from Penn State University, is editor of Stitches magazine, which has been nominated for two Jesse H. Neal Awards and won the American Society of Business Publication Editors (ASBPE) 2011 Magazine of the Year Award.

I see the one mind dreaming our lives
In the Imaginarium
Asking us to open

We have no understanding
Life as we think it is not possible
The stars and waters of the ocean
As we see them are not possible
Relax and open and don’t worry about
What might lie beyond

The last lonely star is born
Lives and dies alone in the frozen darkness
At the end of light
The sea washes deep
Beyond the last heavenly mark
Where the angels can no longer fly

Open your minds
Open your hearts
Open your hands
And be thankful for what comes


Author Bio:
Patricia was born in Kansas and has the wind flowing through her dreams. She was happily transplanted to California where she continued her education from the 7th grade through college. She has taught public school, been a private tutor, worked as a graphic artist and is currently working as a piano accompanist for the high school choirs in the little California valley town where she lives. She reads and writes in every spare moment.

Sinking and drifting,
drifting and soaring,
letting
the garden wither
once the rain no longer visits.

A desert
has its own charm,
a rejuvenating stillness,
an oasis
somewhere
resting under the quiet moonlight
that drenches the sand.


Author Bio:
Julia Hones is an Argentine expat residing in the United States. Her literary work has been published or is forthcoming in the Greensilk Journal, Epiphany Magazine, Skive, Freedom Forge Press Anthology, Coffee Shop Poems and others. For more information, feel free to visit her literary blog: http://juliahoneswritinglife.blogspot.com

I know their servants:
Filipinos, Sri Lankans, Indonesians.
The bold survive, the others
die inside.

A savage sun beats down on
sand stretching for miles under
a cloudless cerulean sky.
The quiet belies the fury underneath.

Her small frame turned
slightly away from me
“It’s the son who is my problem,”
her furrowed brow saying what her mouth
wasn’t.

Two bulging garbage bags, barefoot
she slipped away from him.
Finally, she’s back in Manila.

I wonder, can she sleep at night?


Author Bio:
Molly Gleeson works as a writing tutor at a community college in Bloomington, Indiana. Previously, she spent seven years teaching English overseas, in China, Japan, and Saudi Arabia. She is working on a memoir of her time in Saudi Arabia, entitled My Heart is a Wilderness.

Were there one moment
In the day
That words didn't fly
In flights and swarms
From our mouths
To the sky
Without stopping
By our ears,

I might consider
Telling you
How I feel about
What we're turning
Into now,
But why say
Even one word
If you won't hear?

at dawn a team of trench coated crows
solemn as a forensic squad
stalk the new mown grass lines for discarded body parts

ignoring black clad joggers
plugged into their separate realities
who scuff plough dusty paths in parallel to the municipal track

as they pass the shifty dog shit sitters
urgently rustling plastic bags
anxious to cue their charges to produce in a convenient location

mist clings hopefully chaotic to our aviator sky
but mother, with her wired up toothless jaw
like London trees is dry.


Author Bio:
Maj Ikle is a dyke writer, proud to live the last 13 years in a women's community writing on a solar powered lap top and growing plants x http://majikle.blogspot.co.uk/