TWO POEMS by VICKI LIU

heaven is an empty airport terminal

i remember so much

and nothing at all

the speckle of rib

meat between your teeth

you, saucy-mouth whispering

god, please let’s just eat

two days later we’ll sleep on the floor

gift shop blanket tucked under

the departure gate seats

empty bathroom, endless stalls

i wash my hands in every sink


mother yeast

yeah, i suck at chess

& the past four weeks

feel more like fermentation.

most mornings, i wake up

coughing. had a big lunch,

but still, i could eat. & yes, i still

hold my breath when the

train rattles by & yes, i

still flinch when water drips

on me from nowhere. yeah,

i watch a lot of cooking shows

to be honest, i’m still not sure

how bread is really made.

i know a lot of words for burning

(caramelized, flambéed, brûléed)

i know that sugar is sweet & loves

to be on fire & yes, there is a flat part

on the back of my head. i’ve never

seen it but i recognize it, shaped

exactly like my mother’s thumb.

i’m told that when we’re young

our skulls are soft, like

dough, like something you

need to prove. & yeah, i have

some cash, but paying with coins

makes me feel dumb. four weeks

of post nasal drip, in the toilet,

a big glob of it. break. it. up.

am i short? or tightly packed?

can we go somewhere else

please i’m so hungry


Vicki Liu (she/her) is a freelance illustrator based out of Queens, NY. Her writing has appeared previously in the Broadkill Review and in her spare time she thinks a lot about what to eat for lunch.

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THREE THINGS by LENNON SHERBURNE

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TWO POEMS by JEREMY FREEDMAN