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Immaterial Absorption // Poetry

Immaterial Absorption by Emily Strauss // "We will become one/by nightfall, immaterial absorption/with the green ponds, pale sky"

Smoke lies in the deep valley obscures the view of rice terraces and bamboo stands on the steep slopes clicking like the carapaces of crickets in the light wind.

Day arrives with the mist and we begin again, reaching through the green spaces, seeking each other’s fingertips, joined hands mingled breaths: we are together

again on a quilt-padded wooden platform. The sky clears through the branches,…

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Time Accordioned by Elisa Subin // "Funny how I was disappointed/Folded like a construction-paper fan" Time accordioned Bent and creased at every inch Funny how I was disappointed Folded like a construction-paper fan…

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I See You // Nonfiction

I See You by Michelle Rae Kissinger // "I sniff licorice-scented biscotti before gingerly dunking it into my milky sweet tea."

I sniff licorice-scented biscotti before gingerly dunking it into my milky sweet tea. Bob Barker encourages silly-looking grown-ups to “Come on down!” and my great grandfather, Pap, hands me a spoon to fish soggy biscotti out of my teacup. Cookies, tea, and game shows are my post-kindergarten ritual with my stooped, kind Pap. After my snack, I curl up on an aquamarine upholstered couch covered…

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Seasonal // Poetry

Seasonal by Elodie Barnes // 'I guess love starts whenever/it makes sense."

There’s a sense of frantic, the first time. Held in since the snow and bursting now

like the rose buds. 

I guess love starts whenever it makes sense.

Later, we slow to the rhythm of the bluebells and wild garlic, who have all the time in the world, at least until summer. 

By then, I’ll know how to wrap my skin around yours and we can grow together,

ears of corn in an autumn field.

Elodie Barnes E…

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A Perfect Man // Flash Fiction

A Perfect Man by Beate Sigriddaughter // "He danced, and he danced well at that."

He danced, and he danced well at that. It was a pleasure to go out with him, but he didn’t feel like it most of the time.

Dishes had to be stacked just so, and glasses had to be upright in the cabinet, not rim down, and you couldn’t nestle them inside one another.

He said, “just ask,” but when you did ask, there would be complication, like “not now” or “the blue ones would be better.”

After he…

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A Year After // Poetry

A Year After by Lorraine Caputo // "Gulls scavenge among the rubble of/that quake piled along the broad beaches"

Gulls scavenge among the rubble of that quake piled along the broad beaches, perhaps someday to be washed away by the sea, the memory soothed, smoothed over by saline waters.

                                      The August winds yet come, now whipping the desert soil into devils swirling around lots devoid of homes & Cathedral.

Before a niche tomb, a man sits on a wooden box, drumming to lilting

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Letter from the Editor - Issue Three

Letter from the Editor – Issue Three

Another season, another collection of writing from wonderful women on La Scrittrice! This summer dragged on in the way that time manages to stand still as it also never stops propelling us all forward. Personally, I’m pretty tired of living in this in-between season of not-quite summer and not-yet autumn and cannot wait for the cool, and stable, relief of true fall.

I’m so proud of all of the…

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I know you can invade even gravity (and the realms of my rambling heart) // Poetry

I know you can invade even gravity (and the realms of my rambling heart) by Chiara // "I swoop on wobbly/reverie, twisting from/white to/pink like cotton/candy on Sunday/morning funfairs, and/up there you stand."

I walk on the street, my best friend next to me, dusk waxing our skin. I remember our first stroll to

the Linguistics campus, her glittery freckled smile cheap spiral notebooks tiled

balcony flooded in sex memories. Back to the homebirth

puddle, her red noisy Passat – a station wagon as big as our envied belly laughter – still belting summer hits. That was before

we started rockin’ marble glances…

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Infected Batch // Poetry

Infected Batch by Patricia Walsh // "Cold weather, tempered by alcohol, conquered again/Mixed ashes of beloveds scatter themselves/Forgotten by namesakes"

Wired to the sun, for sake of improvement, Sordid cocktails drunk on the merry go round Happy service to the gods at hand Eschewing suicide for a better run.

What is meant by your speech?  Light fantastic Scintillates the purpose of a burning slight Anthologised for safekeeping, sure immortally Embarrasses the reader, a lost entity.

Holding out till the doorway opens, a happy prank, Willfully in…

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Hindering Ivy // Poetry

Hindering Ivy by Hibah Shabkhez // "For all the beings of the sky know blue/is not the colour of the world's own shell/but an ocean-murmur shivering through"

The fog-wigged attic-woman’s sane smile Distorted with furious, futile rage; Bends clouds into branch-bars to beguile Their cruelly twisting arms from her cage.

The yellow moon by the grey cloud mountain Underlined with a deft hook, loop and flair; Before a cloud-owl on a branch fountain Retreats into a visage worn with care.

The gaol-tree spreads spreads spreads and flies away; Locked in battle…

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What's in your Junk Drawer?

What's in your Junk Drawer? from Julie Eger // "My mom's old ruler from her school days. It says I love Andrew on the back - my dad's name is Jim."

Gas relief pills.

Markers.

Pencil sharpener full of shavings.

Rubber bands.

Empty eye glass case.

Hammer with a screwdriver handle.

Address stickers.

The letter G from an old Scrabble game. I’m going to have it made into a necklace.

Ear plugs.

Box of matches.

Four wooden wheels from an old dresser.

Safety glasses.

Something called a Ben wa ball my aunt gave to me when I was eighteen. I never…

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Beware // Poetry

Beware by Sarah Marquez // "The most/vulnerable I've ever been was stuck in your vision/of what a woman is & should be."

I hear my mother’s voice in my younger ear, you have a swallow of milk left dear & I am ashamed of all the swallows I have since poured down the drain, leftover words I ate & every memory I made fresh for you thinking I could take her place– 

in this world, this life, this moment. The most vulnerable I’ve ever been was stuck in your vision of what a woman is & should be. 

*

I hide in another’s…

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If Real Life Worked Like My iPhone // Poetry

If Real Life Worked Like My iPhone by Jessica Frank // "I could set the language to French or Japanese/or something else that you don't speak, that I don't understand/just to not have English in common with you."

I could restore to a past point like when I installed version 10.0 and everything after that would be gone.

I wouldn’t get my money back for the karaoke app or the $5.99 to have my Piscean fortune told, but at least there’d be no evidence on my home screen, you and I as the background would vanish

into the core of the Apple void.

My music would set back to what it was before I got on the plane in…

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Goddess Poem by Lauren Scharhag // "We cling to our moon and our familiars / who remind us of the celestial radiance/ supposedly intrinsic to our kind" We are told we are essential, life-sustaining as water, custodians of the flow. We are told…

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What's in your Junk Drawer | installment 1 Tangled ribbons, dancing with rubber bands Odd screws and nuts from who knows what, alongside other shiny objects…

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A Final Hymn by Ann Christine Tabaka Trees line the streets of my memories, of a time so long ago. Images promenade past,

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Sad is an Empty Hand by LeAnne Hunt // "the emptiness inside her / is so light" always reaching for something to hold onto. The tighter she clings, the more wine glasses she shatters.