Pick and Mix My poems barely reach the end of the page All my poems are on a word docx now I hope I have backed them up and they are fully secured It’s weird to suddenly have one less notebook to look through When compiling or revising My poems are different on a…
Category: Coming of Age Week
The Pitch – by C. C. RUSSELL
THE PITCH In the knee, bone scrapes against bone. Quick zoom to close-up of man walking – x-ray vision of the leg. We see impact. His gait wobbles. His face is a topography of pain not hidden well. He is approaching the store while the morning sun burns off the clouds behind him,…
Demon Inside – by ROB TRUE
Demon inside Here I sit, sick again, looking down at my ravished flesh. Bruised, bloody and swollen. Broken veins and scars of old abscesses. Trousers round my ankles, looking for a vein as I shiver and cough. Claret all down me from failed attempts, my veins are all fucked, useless. I’ve been sitting…
Poetry from – PRERNA BAKSHI
A Tale of Round Rotis Ever Since I was growing up I was told just how important it was to cook round rotis. Perfectly shaped soft, round rotis. I hated them for their supposed ‘perfectness’, in a world full of people far from perfect who would judge a woman’s worth by her ability to make ’round rotis‘….
Poetry by – DARYLL WILLIAMS
Knockturnal I heard a tapping last night, when the house was quiet, was it, a dripping faucet? footsteps in the garden? windblown branches upon my window? … No, it was just the clock, counting the hours, that I have wasted. Isixeko/idolobha/Stad/City The city is a drenching of honey that seeps into nooks, like melting…
Synchronicity – by JEN ELLERSON
Synchronicity. The suffering hot-end of July 1983. A beige house in a second-rate city was sweating from the inside. Breathing felt like smoking, without a reassuring death-kick. She was trapped inside. It’s like this every year on her birthday. This was her seventh. Dawn sat alone, cross-legged in a sleeveless striped overall,…
The Value of Edges – by ANA PRUNDARU
Many generations attempted to leave the village. Sooner or later though, they returned to their mothers’ warm polenta and cheese dishes, stuffing their mouths to avoid exhaling broken delusions, the ambivalence of growing up to the promise of a promising future, a once potent potential undone. Alina used to curse them for abandoning their…
The Belly Flop of Regret – by RICHARD GREEN
The Belly Flop of Regret The cold yellow morning brings another untidy day. Birds crooning their absurdly joyous songs as I go along, I have the bearing of a man with tight underwear. I have the spirit of a fat man who has lost the race. Some ill-lit mornings I hoodwink myself I am handsome,…
Debris – by JEN ELLERSON
Debris. I. It is getting dark, and it is damp. The padded wall of clouds remind Laure of old days on Hampstead Heath, but that was another life. This time she doesn’t know where she is, and she is barefoot. She smells earth and feels soil under her feet, surrounded by dewy emerald…
Poetry by – AVRINA JOSLIN
a summary of the incident of rape splayed on earth gossamer silk binds hairless skin. smell of crotch as bold as Ratatouille half cooked half singed. spinnerets spinning still on body of youth toe across feebly after throes a summary of the incident of rape by a spider imbricating silk weaves…
In Transit: Excerpts from a Daybook – by C.C. O’HANLON
In Transit: Excerpts from a Daybook (2003) Creed O’Hanlon Kansai Airport: Blind, free-floating within the warm gel of some exotic amnion, a sudden, gritty reflux obstructs a breath and I surface, choking. I claw the bedside table for an open bottle of mineral water. My lungs rasp as I try to suck in air….
Coming of Age Week, Another Pushcart Prize Nominee, and more…
What are you all about at Sick Lit Magazine? I don’t get it. We are about feminism, equality, inclusion and have a continued focus on making strides as a human race toward erasing lines and hierarchies. We support the LGBTQ community, WOMEN, along with all races and religions. I don’t care if you’re black, white,…
