EXTENDED Deadline: November 30, 2020
SCAB. Not quite broken, not quite mended. A reminder of what was, and what will be. Scabs protect our wounds, and yet the temptation to pick at them and peel them off is always there. They call attention to what is already disappearing, and we don’t yet know if they will leave a scar. Scabs are a reminder that healing can be a long, ugly process.
For 59.3, send us your work that sits in-between: neither cleaved nor bound, neither broken nor whole. We are looking for poems that are part way through a journey, and prose that obscures just as much as it reveals. We are looking for fresh starts, deep cuts, regeneration, and work that will have us in stitches. We want words that explore the rough edges of the temporary, transient, and ephemeral.
Submit here!