February 2026
In this issue
Contents
The Sparkle and the Spiral
KC Peek writes a personal memoir alongside an analysis of The Twilight Saga to explore how a bipolar disorder diagnosis, low self-worth, and cultural narratives about romantic love intersected in her life.
Being True to the Story
Bubba Henson recounts a late-night encounter while waiting tables in 1979 Beverly Hills, serving Christie McVie and Dennis Wilson during what turns out to be an emotional, intimate moment following his marriage proposal.
Two Poems by Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri
The Poetry Cast showcases the reading of poetry. In this issue, Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri reads two of his poems.
Breath Holding Contest (in Southern Lebanon)
I’ve looked out of rain-washed windows and wept over an impossible love.
His Dream
When he climbed upon the bed, sated, summertime; memories of his unusually long life didn’t render him shade —
‘e’ things
you have it in your bone, a penchant for relevancy. we talk a, b, c and d. you are a wall, we don’t go to e.
On Slogging My Way Through Joyce’s Ulysses
I reread the same paragraph three times each time convinced it’s different
Two Recommendations For Nothing (In Particulars)
All the pages hidden in all the forests Await a word that will remain When the trees are gone. And now?
The Last Morning
When you came downstairs for a glass of water, what were you thinking while standing at the kitchen sink observing the world? What does anyone think in the last moments of their life?
Smudge of Fingerprints
Our story is a window. Stroke by stroke my body remembers that life & cries for the missing parts of itself
Your Letter Arrives
I am not sad I can’t see the blue of your iris, that a shadow obscures
The Nightling Apples
and only I know how their hair curls almost scentless around their ears, what kind of silence pleases them.
Spring Pastoral
I may be soggy with sleep and the wispy, leftover fragrance of night jasmine, but let me be luminous. Strut with the fawns.
For A Contented Violet
Sometimes it takes just the right window. With enough sunshine, and not too much water.
A Gentleman’s Ambition
They searched for unholy things that lived amongst the trees. They were born from the very trees they’d be strung up on. A sin birthed smelling of a flower. The mob marched, holding lanterns and axes. They were not people of sin.
Whatever Happened to Nuno
Between mouthfuls I inspected Nuno. Short, solid built, thick arms and legs. He looked to be in his late thirties but was dressed young, in bell bottom jeans and a pink and purple paisley long-sleeved shirt. He wore his dark brown hair down to his shoulders. I noticed his eyes darting around, circling the room like a flashlight.
The Night in Question
Everything changed with the arrival of Bo. He walked in high-waisted skinny jeans, his curly hair draping over his shoulder and his back. A thin line of mascara on his eyelashes, a tinge of pink-red on his lips. He was twelve years old, five feet eight inches tall and strutting around the village like a whore of Police Bazaar. You knew immediately that was something you couldn’t stomach. You knew how revolting it is for a boy to walk around like that, staring at men like that, talking to other men like that.
When the World Is Silent
Something was off that morning, that pre-dawn, before I went for a walk and crossed paths with The Man Who Sneezed, but to this day I cannot pinpoint just what was off. Maybe it was the fact that I had cream in my usually black coffee that afternoon, or that my daily conversation with my mother got cut short, or maybe the fact that I was so low that night that I got high so as to forget about the low
The Infinite
You see me bite my lower lip. Hear the grating screech of metal on floor as I pull a chair over to sit at eye-level, the way they taught us to in medical school when ‘Delivering Bad News’. This is not the quick “The CT scan of your head looks great!” conversation you were hoping for.
When ‘I am’ isn’t enough
A short piece of flash fiction by Azee Amoo
Two Honks
Three honks when she left. Two honks for “I’m home.” One honk for each word. It was theirs. “I love you.” “I’m home.” It meant she was safe.
Round Earthers
The General broke out into a fit of laughter, picking up the earthen ball of clay. “Oh, la fille,” he laughed, as my family and I remained still. “You are but a commoner, so you do not know better, but this is a holistically inaccurate depiction!” He would not stop laughing. “Come here, child. You see, the Earth is flat, like this table.”