Cross-Genre
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New! LIT Monthly Writing Prompt: April Edition
Happy poetry month everyone!
Here at LIT we are starting a new series of monthly writing prompts. This month’s prompt is from our nonfiction editor Vicky Oliver:
Write about a time when you were lost and how you found your way home.
The hero’s journey is sometimes a parable on the transformation of being: old habits and emotional reactions that are shed out of necessity as they become stumbling blocks to the journey. The old ways are replaced by new strengths or new ideas that have been germinating out of sight, waiting to come into play as fresh discoveries in a moment of crisis,
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“A Stranger Named Plague” by Stephanie Dickinson
Above: “Three Horses Tended by Men” by Umberto Boccioni
Stone Pavement1981, Houston
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You _arrive_in the _time of _azaleas _and heat wave. _Hungry_ for the
high _yellow _of _a _Gulf _Coast _scorcher,_ you _eat on _Texas _Street
where oil _drum _cookers, -
Two Poems by Phoebe Reeves
Part One, Question the Sixteenth: Works of Truth**
There are fourteen species of silent star,and the species vary according to generative power.
A woman cannot perform divination, knowingthat blood and the dead answer. But think—
the soul appeared through a woman who wasa witch, just as the images of things
are called by the names they represent. -
“ode to summer” by Cheyanne Anderson
every time I go onto my balconybare feet on dusty cementand look down the streettowards the subwaytowards the markettowards the road straight to the beachthe air gets a little warmerand I can feel the spring preparing,about to pass me by
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and I hope I’ll make it out in time to buy a new sundressand a pair of sandalsbecause summer somehow always catches me by surpriseand by the time I’ve thought to embrace the way humidity sits on skinthere’s a bite in the air and it’s gone again
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I keep dreaming of ways to catch it
like a firefly in a jar
(only temporary)
so I can see it up close
so I can remember to notice the sweat on the back of my neck
and the proof it serves
that I was alive that day
so I can skip down sidewalks
so I can lie in the park
so I can chill another bottle of wine
so I can kiss and kiss and kiss
so I can forget to put on sunscreen
so I can walk until my feet ache
so I can embrace the way my hair frizzes from my scalp like a crown
so I can fall in love in ways I’m not sure I deserve
so I can remember to admire the way the fire hydrant down the street
(somehow always breaking open)
washes away cigarette butts and receipts and regrets
and makes a babbling brook on Bushwick streets
just until the repairman comes on Monday
just until I can bring myself to open the jar and let it go
and whisper well wishes into the first breeze of autumnmy heart is too big for this bedroom,
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“Social Distances” by L.B. Browne
There is a manwearing dark glassesand a blue paper surgical maskin the fluorescent sun of the grocery store.Hey buddy, 6 feet!a young woman shoutsas he backs up, nearly touches her,outrageous,she does not seethe white cane he slides in small arcs at his feet,tip tapping the waydown ravaged empty aisles.
There is a womanwith a 3-day-old coughand a nasal drip that runs down the back of her throat, -
“The Optimist” by Raquel Melody Guarino
I packed my bag upstuffed it fullSeams burstingas Itryto pullzipand pushdown the pileto make it easier tocarry
it doesn’t matter what you putas long as you can bear itwithout their help
you may limp or even tripbut you brought those bagsyou brought them for a reason
you will pull those bags up the stairs
one by one.