ISSUE 11

SPRING 2022

Streetlights flicker. Words braid themselves into sinew,
gouged: an excavation of swindlers, unfaithful as runaway light. Now,

a chrysalis shed of everything
she once called home. Still, her throat searches for a wildfire
 
unraveled: for a life not measured in debt.

"Poem for the Deserted"

HEATHER QIN, SPRING 2022 ISSUE 11