This month we offer a snowy graveyard, watermelon seeds.
Next month we stay
STILL
Submission guidelines can be found here.
What they will find inside of me tomorrow
Lesions, polyps, adhesions, and build-up.
Congestion, inflammation, anomalous growths.
All the chewing gum and watermelon seeds my uncles told me not to swallow.
Probably sequins and rhinestones and a wad of hot glue.
The pristine egg of a bluebird, a whisker from my cat.
Chewed kale and clementines and chocolate.
Exhaustion on the cellular level.
Whichever organ has absorbed all my fear,
the part that has gone blue and heavy with it.
My soul, which is small, real, and looks like a pinto bean.
K. Rose Dallimore (she/her) lives with chronic illness and kicks ass. She is an educator, writer, entrepreneur, artist, and reproductive disability advocate. She is based in Washington, DC, and would like to thank her doctors, her girlfriend, and her cat for making the painful times worth it. She recently co-founded a mutual aid organization and resource group for reproductive disabilities. You can find them at @ourbodyjusticeproject on Instagram.
of birds
The lingering little light reaches pale
hands towards the closest edge of a Calder-
esque mobile. The movement is a veil
curling in the breeze and I see her
in the snowy graveyard, a suspended
figure in a still life. All an altar
built by our small steps as we ascended
the iced over hill to the graveyard. Toned
by the distance, rods appear to attend
to her, her hands in pockets, and alone.
There is a precision to digital
zoom, shapes untether, and she is sown
into everything, stitches visible.
End in perfection. The tree
bound to the woman by the liminal
overcast light and everything else be-
tween the church tower and her size-to-large
jacket. The parts move in totality.
Stuck like this, an exhibit charges
with balance. I look at the kinetic
memory, as pieces in constant merge.
I want to go into an eidetic
landscape composed with high contrast,
hard-lined containers, it is emetic
to imagine such a place.
Among pine trees there appears a mass,
A mobile of metal petals. I see
it recast as tree swallows above a June meadow.
Alice Letowt likes Tulip Poplars
This month we offer a snowy graveyard, watermelon seeds.
Next month we stay
STILL
Submission guidelines can be found here.
What they will find inside of me tomorrow
Lesions, polyps, adhesions, and build-up.
Congestion, inflammation, anomalous growths.
All the chewing gum and watermelon seeds my uncles told me not to swallow.
Probably sequins and rhinestones and a wad of hot glue.
The pristine egg of a bluebird, a whisker from my cat.
Chewed kale and clementines and chocolate.
Exhaustion on the cellular level.
Whichever organ has absorbed all my fear,
the part that has gone blue and heavy with it.
My soul, which is small, real, and looks like a pinto bean.
K. Rose Dallimore (she/her) lives with chronic illness and kicks ass. She is an educator, writer, entrepreneur, artist, and reproductive disability advocate. She is based in Washington, DC, and would like to thank her doctors, her girlfriend, and her cat for making the painful times worth it. She recently co-founded a mutual aid organization and resource group for reproductive disabilities. You can find them at @ourbodyjusticeproject on Instagram.
of birds
The lingering little light reaches pale
hands towards the closest edge of a Calder-
esque mobile. The movement is a veil
curling in the breeze and I see her
in the snowy graveyard, a suspended
figure in a still life. All an altar
built by our small steps as we ascended
the iced over hill to the graveyard. Toned
by the distance, rods appear to attend
to her, her hands in pockets, and alone.
There is a precision to digital
zoom, shapes untether, and she is sown
into everything, stitches visible.
End in perfection. The tree
bound to the woman by the liminal
overcast light and everything else be-
tween the church tower and her size-to-large
jacket. The parts move in totality.
Stuck like this, an exhibit charges
with balance. I look at the kinetic
memory, as pieces in constant merge.
I want to go into an eidetic
landscape composed with high contrast,
hard-lined containers, it is emetic
to imagine such a place.
Among pine trees there appears a mass,
A mobile of metal petals. I see
it recast as tree swallows above a June meadow.
Alice Letowt likes Tulip Poplars
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