Retrospective features two poems from our very first print edition of Glass Mountain, along with a small selection of other notable works from our archives.
there was a war. the names changed, the borders, the sounds of words. so instead of toes, it was snows, or sometimes hills, which made me think of my body as a landscape, which made me forget to eat. we travel with shovels. after, there
This is the mourning hour when they come to feed you marrow scraped from your own bones salted with your mother’s ash. Here you will find a language to guide those voices left blistered on the tongue of winter.
we have old tears in jelly jars and lock our sadness in our cars, we’ve paper-bagged our feelings in the same place that we vomit — it’s getting kind of redundant, yes it’s getting kind of slow, yet we