Blanket Sea

Arts & Literary Magazine

Tag: literature (page 1 of 2)

“Lungs” by Carly Madison Taylor

The heart, your only one, is only on the left. Situs invertus is the name for the opposite, when all of a person’s organs are flipped over the spine like an axis of reflection. The spine, which goes all the way up from your pelvis into your skull, does not seem unreasonably long until your fingers go from the top to the bottom of it on another body and feel.… Read more ““Lungs” by Carly Madison Taylor”

Poetry by Juliette Sebock

Wintergreen

I could never drink root beer,
Which was a shame when we went to the soda shop
And everyone crossed the intersection
For a dollop of ice cream in their nearly-too-cold cup.
It tasted like it smelt,
And it smelt like walking on Pop-Pop’s back
And brushing against his psoriasis
And not asking about the scar that ran up his spine.… Read more “Poetry by Juliette Sebock”

“Deforestation and Other Side Effects” by Tiffany Promise

This morning, when the Human-Shaped-Gods signed my discharge plan, I had a moment where I didn’t believe it was really happening.

“But my head used to hurt so badly that I’d contemplate taking an icepick to my occipital lobe. Now I just feel like an ice-picked ice sculpture,” I told them.… Read more ““Deforestation and Other Side Effects” by Tiffany Promise”

Poetry by Kate Garrett

Spectrum

Looking up at the sky when I was five, it seemed
to me no one else could see it. This one wasn’t falling
but it was too big and too bright blue-yellow-
white and there were too many people beneath it.

My mother dragged me out the door, chasing margaritas,
ignored my trembling goldfinch shoulders, did not
understand why I was sick on the floor of the Mexican
restaurant across the street from our apartment.… Read more “Poetry by Kate Garrett”

“anatomy of a burning thing” by Monica Robinson

The city never slept but its nights and days sounded different. The days were bright and burning and belonging to the masses; the nights, a cacophony, were his, the cars passing outside, shattered windows in back alleys, wild cats climbing on dumpsters, nails scratching metallic echoes. Gunshots cut through dark air, distant sirens resonated, groups of drunk college kids walked in packs, rocking back and forth up the streets, the homeless huddled beneath awnings in secluded corners of cracked sidewalks with splitting knuckles holding Styrofoam cups, shaking them so that the change at the bottom rattled between the empty spaces, buried deep in mountains of dumpster clothing.… Read more ““anatomy of a burning thing” by Monica Robinson”

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