Issue 122

morning air on my face like cold water

We were at war, Christian soldiers, and on October 31, the war spilled out onto every street in the city, Satan rising, only the truest of saints fighting back.

He folds me / over his knee

It was during Holy Week last year when E, wearing her fake Gucci butterfly necklace, tried to light herself on fire.

Lord, it is dark in here.

I was six when my sister had her first breakdown.

You have / followed the weak line / of your heartbeat

I hope I’m coming to everything I do with some kind of a Christian perspective or understanding, even if it isn’t very pronounced. This is part of what it means to me to be an honest writer.

Who is it who calls when imagination awakens?