Author Archives: Raquel Thorne

2018 Best of the Net Nominations

Congratulations to our nominations for this year’s
Best of the Net!

Lineage” by Jay Douglas

Only the Gentle, Only the Strong” by Samuel J Fox

Neo” by Tyrek Greene

Peter Discovers Wrinkles in His Shadow” by Shahé Mankerian

(of use)” by Megan Merchant

Fernweh” by Tamzin Mitchell

Two Eggs” by Rebecca Schumejda

Rapture of the Deep” by CJ Spataro

The Immigrant, 1909” by Kenneth Wolman

Don’t Feed the Yao Guai!” by Colee Wong

For information on the Best of the Net anthology, visit Sundress Publications.
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cahoodaloodaling Turns Six!

cat birthdaycahoodaloodaling turned six this May and I can hardly believe it. We’ve been incredibly lucky, both with who has volunteered time on staff and the amazing submissions we’ve received for our themed calls. With 26 issues under our belt, we’re excited to move into our 7th year!

We’ve had some recent staff additions I’d love to take a second to brag about. Sam Singleton, our Assistant Poetry Editor, is pretty fantastic, but you don’t need to take my word on it. Rachel Nix, la capitana of the poetry team, interviewed Sam for our Queer Spaces issue this winter.

Then we snagged Tara Wood, who has been working furiously in the background reading prose submissions. Besides being a great reader, she’s a badass researcher working on Huntington’s Disease.

Wes Jamison, who guest edited our most recent issue on lyric essays, has decided to stay on and we’re quite tickled about having our very own Nonfiction Guru on staff. Rachel also recently interviewed him.

Chainsaw and Noodle

Chainsaw protects the apartment from wayward lizards under the steady guidance of his overseer, Noodle.

And finally, we scored Ann Bowler, who has helped behind the scenes with covers in the past and not only designed The Lyric Essay cover, but also supplied the artwork. She’s also my roommate in Baton Rouge, LA, and while I’m back in Santa Rosa, CA for the summer, she’s keeping me supplied with darling photos of her cats, who I have decided are the official mascots of cahoodaloodaling.

Another change is underway! Because so many of us are tied to the academic calendar, and because we have been so wonderfully fortunate to receive large numbers of submissions, we’ve decided to cut back to three themed issues a year: October 31st, February 28/9th, and June 30th. We’re already open for our 27th issue, Joy Sticks, guest edited by the phenomenal Alina Stefanescu. Slated for October 31st, we think an issue on Joy is the proper way to begin what promises to be a magical year. So here’s to seven! We hope you join us.

—Raquel Thorne

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Issue #26 – The Lyric Essay

That which at first appears to be a lyric essay may be something else, just as the converse may also be true. And that which at first appears real, under scrutiny, demonstrates a deficit of reality. So writers use language to shore up cordons around the insufficiently-real object or phrase or event precisely so that she may vivisect it into a desired product, torture it into manageability.

Read the full guest editor letter from Wes Jamison

The Lyric Essay Cover Final small

Guest Editor’s Spotlight:
Only the Gentle, Only the Strong by Samuel J Fox

A Brief History of Women and Failure by Kristen Holt-Browning

A Wish You Must Cultivate by Bill Wolak

Good Guess by Kristine Langley Mahler

A Requirement Unrequited by Emily Townsend

3. I Forgot the Stance of Cliffs Meeting Water by Anne Gorrick

Variables by Nora Bonner

Don’t Feed the Yao Guai! by Colee Wong

Rorschach Research by Ivars Balkits

“Monolith, the Face of Half Dome, Yosemite Valley, 1927” by Ansel Adams by Eric Dean Wilson

Dissonance by Cover Artist Ann Bowler

That Thing That You Don’t Talk About by Dennis Humphrey

Rachel Nix Interviews Samuel J Fox of Bending Genres

Rachel Nix Interviews Wes Jamison


About Our Guest Editor

 

Wes Jamison Editor PicWes Jamison’s work appears or is forthcoming in 1913, Diagram, Fifth Wednesday, Essay Press, The Rumpus, and elsewhere.

 

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2017 Bettering American Poetry and 2018 Best New Poets Nominations

Congratulations to our 2017 Bettering American Poetry
and 2018 Best New Poets nominations!

BAP

When I Bite My Tongue I Think of the Year I Was Addicted to Xanax” by Siaara Freeman
She Called Me a Dirty Jew” by Phyllis Wax
This Is a Serious Consideration” by Megan Merchant

BNP

Lineage” by Jay Douglas
All-American Roommate” by M. Wright

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Issue #25 – Queer Spaces

It means so many things to be a part of the queer community. By some, we are feared for the way we experience love and rarely celebrated for our expressions of it—oftentimes forcing us to keep so much of who we are to ourselves. One of my favorite lines of poetry states that “it is the voices that make me pull at / my skin this way already stretched / and scarred too many voices on the / inside trying to get out and only / one mouth.”* To me, this is what it feels like to be queer within too many of our communities. It is therefore vital for us to encourage acts of creative expression, so that our mouths become only one of many vehicles used to communicate with the world outside of our bodies.

Read the full guest editor letter from Alesha J Dawson

 

Queer Spaces Cover Final smallGuest Editor’s Spotlight:
Lineage by Jay Douglas

And Then With a Spin I Am Boy Again by Ari Burford

Neo by Tyrek Greene

The Endless, Pressing Night by Holden Wright

Instructions for Those Who have Learned Not to Cry by Alex Vigue

Fernweh by Tamzin Mitchell

Aubade with Pin by Robert Carr

Lesser Erotic Incantations by Ava Hofmann

My Sweet Little Friends by Cover Artist David Andersson

Rachel Nix Interviews Sam Singleton

Rachel Nix Interviews Alesha J Dawson


About Our Guest Editor
Alesha Dawson
Alesha J Dawson
is the editor-in-chief of Screen Door Review—Literary Voices of the Queer South. She has a Master’s in English Literature from the University of Edinburgh and has worked as an adjunct English professor at the University of Montevallo and the University of Alabama at Birmingham. She currently works as a case manager at a life insurance company during the day to allow for her editing and writing by night. She currently lives in Birmingham, Alabama with her two cats, Pushkin and Bede.

 

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2017 Pushcart Prize & 2018 Best Small Fictions Nominations

Congratulations to our 2017 Pushcart
and 2018 Best Small Fictions nominations!

Pushcart

In-Season” by Wendy Elizabeth Ingersoll
She Called Me a Dirty Jew” by Phyllis Wax
The Immigrant, 1909” by Kenneth Wolman
Peter Discovers Wrinkles in His Shadow” by Shahé Mankerian
Boat Guy” by Joe Dornich
No-One Suspects Your Shoulder Blades of Wings” by Wes Jamison

 BSF

End Game” by Nancy Ludmerer
The Favorite” by Kelly Flynn
How to Drive Across the Country” by Vivian Wagner

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Issue #24 – Solitude’s Spectrum

Solitude is a part of every life, and from person to person it can mean something different and new, something dour and tragic, something essential and protected, desired, feared. When I first put into words why I felt solitude would make such a fascinating theme for an issue, I had my own unique connotation in mind, my own vision of solitude: the cool, quiet afternoons spent alone writing, puttering about, resting, reading, no need to go out, no need to have anyone in, just staying tucked away because going out can be so damned draining sometimes. I seek days alone. I need days alone. Solitude is an essential companion. And while I know not everyone’s vision of the word “solitude” is the same, and I expected different variations on the tune, the array of interpretations that spilled into our inbox surpassed any of my expectations.

Read the full guest editor letter from James H Duncan

Solitude's Spectrum Cover Final 2

Guest Editor’s Spotlight:
(of use) by Megan Merchant

Titanium Wrench by Jonathan Travelstead

After Noon by Thomas Gillaspy

Rapture of the Deep by CJ Spataro

Campfires by Bridget Clawson

Peter Discovers Wrinkles in his Shadow by Shahé Mankerian

The Trash Man by Andrew Mondry

Dead Mako by Tomas Bird

Reflection by Shanti Weiland

Night Bloom by Samantha Malay

Two Eggs by Rebecca Schumejda

Agates by Benjamin Malay

Tartaruga by Catherine Arra

The Immigrant, 1909 by Kenneth Wolman

When I Bite My Tongue I Think of the Year I Was Addicted to Xanax by Siaara Freeman

No-One Suspects Your Shoulderblades of Wings by Wes Jamison

  Wind and Space by Cover Artist Brad G. Garber

Wings Outside the Window: Review of Chloe Honum’s Then Winter by Sonja Johanson

Rachel Nix Interviews April Michelle Bratten

 Rachel Nix Interviews James H Duncan


About Our Guest Editor
James H DuncanJames H Duncan is the editor of Hobo Camp Review, a literary magazine celebrating the traveling word. After graduating from Southern Vermont College in Bennington, VT in 2004, he took to the road and traversed the long stretches of highway between Maine and California, Mexico and Montreal, finding moments of respite in book shops, dive bars, cafes, diners, and train stations. Along the way, James worked as a landscaper, drove a snow plow, painted houses, slept through overnight security jobs, toiled as a chef, and held a few handyman jobs before transitioning to wordsmith positions at trade publishers, newspapers, as a writer for American Artist magazine, and as an acquisitions editor for Writer’s Digest Books. Twice nominated for the Best of the Net award and once for the Pushcart Prize for my poetry, James is the author of a dozen collections of poetry and fiction, including What Lies In Wait, Dead City Jazz, Berlin, and The Cards We Keep, and has appeared in such magazines as Drunk Monkeys, Five:2:One, Pulp ModernRed Fez, Plainsongs, Reed Magazine, The Homestead Review, The Battered Suitcase, San Pedro River Review, Up the Staircase, The Aurorean, Poetry Salzburg Review, and Gutter Eloquence Magazine, among many others. He currently writes columns for The Blue Mountain Review and hosts a monthly poetry read series in Troy, NY alongside poet R.M. Engelhardt called The Troy Poetry Mission. When he’s not freelancing, he’s writing novels, columns, short stories, and poetry. For more, please visit www.jameshduncan.com.

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Issue #23 – Up Yours!

You deserve to be angry. If you’re questioning yourself, if you think you should magically acquire a hyper-masculine stiff upper lip and stop “overreacting,” if you find yourself feeling diminished just by walking on your college campus or at your office job or sitting down at a family dinner—I promise, what you’re feeling is valid.

Read the full guest editor letter from Hannah Hamilton

Up Yours! Cover

Guest Editor’s Spotlight:
Mindcunt by Alison Rumfitt

End Game by Nancy Ludmerer

The Comrade by Kathleen McClung

Tears from a Frontline by Arusha Topazzini

#PinoyPride by Sade Andria Zabala

Diagnosis: Super Dick by Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas

Boat Guy by Joe Dornich

Mass Media by Sierra Schepmann

Biggest Fan by Christopher T. Werkman

Waterless Cooking by Karl Williams

Role Model by Barbara Nishimoto

Angry Giraffe by Jessy Randall

I Curse Because by Ping Wang

The Mermaids by Erinn Batykefer

Cover Art for Up Yours! by Dorthy Ray

Rachel Nix Interviews Dustin Pearson

 Rachel Nix Interviews Hannah Hamilton


About Our Guest Editor
Hannah in CarHannah Hamilton lives in Baton Rouge, LA, and is currently finishing up her last year of undergrad at Louisiana State University. More importantly, she makes killer stir-fry, is terribly concerned with the exploitation of imbalanced power dynamics, and enjoys writing vaguely autobiographical werewolf poetry in the margins of all her notebooks. Sometimes she takes naps on her lunch break at work.

cahoodaloodaling is excited to announce that Hannah will be remaining on staff as our new assistant editor!

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PPP&P #3 Spring 2017

PPP&P3

PPP&P spotlights recently published work from our sister journals at Sundress Publications: Pretty Owl Poetry, Rogue Agent, Stirring, and Wicked Alice. Much like the astrology practiced in Telangana in which a parrot is used to pick some cards as luck for the customer, Prasanna hopes her picks will bring luck (and inspiration) to our readers.

 

Pretty Owl Poetry

In “Room of Rind and Pith“, Grace Arenas waxes about the ‘room of discord’ and the beauty found in decay:

     half-chewed and spat.
Room of weeks-gone bread
and rainfall, egg shell,
forsaken seedling

Choose a little glorified subject and wax poetic on its power.

*

In “The Sensorium of the Cyborg“, Laurin DeChae introduces ‘i’ the machine. Notice the tug between the familiar ‘I’ and the unfamiliar ‘i’.

where there is _______ i sees _______
now you see her, now, now,
i doesn’t want to be here.
i doesn’t want to be
but i was made to machine,

Redefine or introduce a conflicting doppelganger.

 

Rogue Agent

In “Timetable“, McKenzie Lynn Tozan talks of split second decisions that can mean experiences lost or g(r)ained.

I gazed at a tree
and knew if I didn’t start climbing,

I’d never get another chance.

Write of an instance where you ‘seized the moment’.

*

Alessandra Braya‘s “Rebirth” had me musing: How to render her line:

You flayed me and found a hummingbird perched as a
pendant amid my ribs,

Lean into a flight of imagination.

 

Stirring

Andre Collard begins his “Elegy with a Red Wagon” with:

In floodwaters, the fire ants
of South Carolina will link their bodies
to form an island, floating
over drowning cars and streetlights
like a funeral.

This is such an evocative beginning, that I looked up this phenomenon. Now I am all ears for what the poem has to say.

Share a local phenomenon so the reader can vicariously travel.

*

In “J’aime La Règle Qui Corrige L’Émotion“, Michael Sandler‘s writing moves from

guise and form, billowing
to winged image then back to cloud

This perfectly matches the image which inspired this poem: George Braque ‘reviving wings’ in his illustrations.

Think Einstein’s love for music and physics and build a bridge between writing and a different art form. Contrast or draw a parallel.

 

Wicked Alice

Cassie Ciopryna provides a respite from the ordinary life with an astronomical statement in “That Would Be the Cure“:

                                               leak
meteors out of your skin onto mine

Put your telescopic ‘powers of 10’ lenses on to discover something anew.

*

In “I Lose Him Near the Lumber“, Amy Lee Heinlen shows both the highs and pitfalls of hazardous occupations in brief and simple language.

smell of potential
and death

Write a poem with a tone contrary to the subject.

 

 

Feel free to reply and share your responses to Prasanna’s prompts in the comments!

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2017 Best New Poets & Bettering American Poetry Nominees

Best New Poets Nominees

Best New Poets is an annual anthology of fifty poems from emerging writers. The anthology takes nominations from literary magazines in the United States and Canada, graduate-level writing programs in the United States and Canada, and entries from an annual open competition. For more information about the Best New Poets anthology and eligibility, visit bestnewpoets.org.

Morning Song by Marina Carreira

Driving home from the Stop & Shop, you glance over
at the Clorox and pretzels and get the urge
to wrap yourself around a pole

like a snake
like a stripper
like an SUV yearning for the hot crush of metal

Holding her as she coos
like a bird seeing the ocean
for the first time, a part of you

wants to tear yourself to pieces,
pull: intestine by intestine,
smolder the liver you no longer

destroy but fuck if you don’t
every now and again
sitting at your desk

looking out the window
you think how close the planes get to the top of buildings
in this city, you remember the last time you flew,

the last time you faked an orgasm
the last time you rode him like a ghost
in the wind, you rode like the wind

and only looked back to make sure
every part of you was still there
in that moment

When there is a shooting
in an elementary school
you drop to your knees, thank God it wasn’t her

in her classroom you run
to the bathroom and throw up,
you throw your hands up in the air

Google “statistics of school shootings in New Jersey”
Google “where can I buy a gun fast”
Google “post post post post partum depression”

MARINA CARREIRA is a Luso-American writer from the Ironbound area of Newark, NJ. She holds a MFA in Creative Writing from Rutgers University. Her work is featured or forthcoming in The Acentos Review, The Writing Disorder, Naugatuck River Review, Writers of the Portuguese Diaspora: An Anthology (Boavista Press, 2015), Bluestockings Magazine, THE FEM, Rock&Sling, Paterson Literary Review, Paper Nautilus, Pif Magazine, and All We Can Hold: A Collection of Poetry on Motherhood (Sage Hill Press, 2016). “Morning Song” was published in issue #20, Trigger Warning.

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The Prologue by Imaani Cain

i.
at age six, you are helen of troy
with a stripe of sunscreen on your
cheeks. in this life, paris has the same nose as you,
has taught you how to breathe underwater
and how to spit seeds across the expanse of the lawn.

in this life, paris watches you dress through the crack
in the door, cataloging the tender shape of your
back. when you catch him, he does not apologize
but you offer forgiveness anyways.

ii.
beauty is not the gorgon you had
hoped it would be. there are dreams
where the men all turn to stone,
their hunger frozen
into marble and with you
always out of range.

iii.
when paris’s brother asks you to strip,
you wonder if that is just some form
of love that your mother has not explained to
you yet. his teeth flash in the dim lighting;
he says that you are the prettiest
thing he has ever seen.

iv.
your body is a land you have never
explored. it is the house you do not
have the key to–you can only look
at yourself with your head
half turned away.

v.
when he puts his hands on you,
you are six years old
in a frayed swimsuit.
forgiveness is already waiting
at the tip of your tongue.

IMAANI CAIN was born in San Diego, California but grew up in New England. Currently, she lives in Boston with a shaky bookshelf that is crowded with far too many novels. She is an editorial assistant for Talking Writing Magazine and has been published on both Thought Catalog and www.Exsistentia.net. In her spare time, she studies French and paints watercolors. “The Prologue” was published in issue #20, Trigger Warning.

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Bettering American Poetry Nominees

Bettering American Poetry is an annual anthology of American poems which jam dominant systems of taste and resignify the very phrase “American poetry” with the languages that it so desperately lacks. This anthology centers voices of resistance, subjectivities that emerge from the radical margins, artists whose Americanness transcends nationalism and other borders, perspectives historically denied institutional backingin short, poets and poetries that are urgent and necessary but do not get along nicely with Power. For more information about Bettering American Poetry and eligibility, visit betteringamericanpoetry.com.

A Reclaiming by Siaara Freeman

the hood can yell for itself. does not need your voice
to introduce its own. your quick mimic is a quiet crime
& a loud sentencing.

this dialect, the ebonics, is not a case study not a thesis statement
a sociology report not a buffet not a welcome
mat. your children have full mouths
of my children & you call it rebellion
instead of theft because rebellion looks better
with blood. you can learn every dance
& you will never know the sweat of needing to move
with nowhere to go. you can listen
to every rap song & you will never
live the lyric be the drug deal gone good be the love story gone
bad be the shit talk be a bar-b-q of good intentions
you can come to the house-parties & go
home. before the cops come before the song ends before you actually have to
understand. you can recite every line to Friday & never laugh
at the right parts. you can say “bye Felecia” without knowing her
crack addiction. without knowing the droop of her shirt & the beg
of her braids. how love & shame can be sisters
& look nothing alike. how hungry is always around the corner.
where survival comes without the guide or loses it
too soon. you can be the Huxtables or the Bradys
either way you don’t know a damn thing about this. who you know
hiss like a hot-comb on the back of yo’ neck? who you know really
trappin’? who you know trapped? whatcha’ know bout reckless? who you know really
wrecked with no insurance? who you know riding dirty? who you calling dirty? who
you won’t bring home to yo mama? who you think you foolin’?
who you think a fool?survival is a sticky sap. slang is what happens when you eat it
every day & wake to lick the corners of your lips.

“our children play together” you say,
“picking up your children’s bad habits.”

you convince them they are eating dirt
instead of telling them to stop taking
candy from                                                   strangers.

Siaara FreemanSIAARA FREEMAN is your friendly neighborhood hope dealer. If the something in the world saves you, you should try and save something in the world with whatever it is you got. She’s got poems. Siaara’s chapbook, Live from District 11, is available on Kindle. “A Reclaiming” was published in issue #20, Trigger Warning.

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The Only Trans Girl at the Party by Alison Rumfitt

Saturday night’s a black hole
you’re the probe, lost in nothing, falling, negativity
crushed out of existence in your
knee-length skirt, white shirt and tights
and your make-up which other girls say
looks better than they could ever do
and you laugh and say, “I watched hours of youtube tutorials
to get to this!” and they laugh (what you said was true)
it’s like make-up is their country
you’re something strange, like an Hollywood horror
you’re a reanimated corpse, something from the black lagoon
and you’re a fun-vampire all in one
but you’re a girl, wearing the dress better
kissing slicker and sicker because you’ve got to
how dare you
intruder, monster, weirdo
The only trans girl at the party
the only starry anomaly
standing outside photographs just in case your parents see
got shouted at by strangers walking here
even though you hid your adam’s apple with a collar
You want to be part of the fun but
however hard you try it’s like
You’re a circus act or something at the end of the pier–

Ladies and Gentlemen, roll up, we have the
Wondrous Transgender
Ask it questions, find out
why it’s like this, it doesn’t look it, it doesn’t like it
what kind of trauma made you live like this?

The crowd looks on, laughs
this is wholesome entertainment
You wonder if, at some other party someone here
will tell your story
such an inspiration!
Yes I met this trans girl once
probed her for questions, she looked lost in space, lost
in the space between the kitchen and the bathroom floor

This is where it gets ugly, it’s the event horizon
although you don’t know that yet:
someone thinks they’ve got you
you don’t see their face but they feel
between your legs
You see a person in a mask, a rabbit’s head
tells you that you’d be better off drowned and dead
blink and they’re gone into the crowd
blink again and the crowd change
sometime’s they all look like animals
it’s hard to see them as people when
they all see you as an object
as simply a trans girl at their party when really
you have a girlfriend, like films
go to coffee shops every weekend
No, they move in, pitchforks, Guy Fawkes faces
grins and burning torches after Frankenstein’s monster
(that’s you, a person made of pieces)
All they want to know is where you come from
they all need to know your story
they need to know what your body looks like
and the blood, your blood, does it
taste the same as theirs does?
There are so many hands
and they grab at your stitches
The Black hole finally rears its head
sucking you in from the other side of the room
it’s mouth is rows of yellow teeth
You slip, you fall
the angry mob watch as Saturday night
eats you whole
spits you out
Sunday morning takes you home

Alison RumfittALISON RUMFITT is an 18 year old writer who lives in the South of England. There isn’t much to do there. Writing seemed like a good option. When she isn’t doing that she’s standing around in the kitchen at parties, or running away from things, or trying to formulate a life philosophy built on chips n dips. Her poetry has previously been published in Persephone’s Daughters. “The Only Trans Girl at the Party” was published in issue #20, Trigger Warning.


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Elegy for a Child Bride by Lakshmi Mitra

i.

three pre-dawn bathers see her first on the ghat
arms stretched out towards the river, eyes closed, a single
gold bangle sheened red on her left arm.

she could be sleeping; but she
is not.

ii.

in the days to come, she wanders in many forms many shapes
into my night dreams. but always, her eyes are wide, crimson-clinging-lashes
there is nothing in them – no tenderness, no abhorrence
and no pain.

my mother tells me horror stories of girls younger than I
who bathe in gasoline then swallow fire. they burn their histories from their bodies
and carry their unshed nightmares into the afterlife.

iii.

ten houses down the road, a young man will leave
come tomorrow morning, just to be sure.

the cops think she took a knife to herself, and no one
disagrees. i think tomorrow a girl whose name i cannot know
will give herself to the sea. maybe the same evening
another will bleed out over her mother-in-law’s floor
and give bitter thanks for it.

iv.

in the evening the temple doors part and someone
kills a goat on the steps; blood on water on stone, it feels
much the same.

they carry her ashes to the ganga, the river, fractious,
already brimming with ghosts of girls who
died fast and young like flies. their mothers lament
by the river, not just for their daughters, but for
all the ghosts to come.

Processed with VSCOcam with f2 presetLAKSHMI MITRA is a 19-year-old college student living in Calcutta who occasionally frustrates herself into a bout of writing. When not doing so, she can be found reading, studying, craving sleep, and complaining. She is mostly polite, a lousy conversationalist, and doesn’t like sudden movements. Therefore, it comes as a great surprise to her that her cats still don’t like her. “Elegy for a Child Bride” was published in issue #20, Trigger Warning.

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