Dollbaby, by Amarie Fox

  Dollbaby Amarie Fox   We are going back in time, locking ourselves in our little girl rooms where the walls are pink and there are daisy chains along the ceiling, just to find these sisters of ours, these versions of ourselves. Our favorite is packed in a box, banished to the back of the closet, bound with tissue paper––to hide her nakedness and headlessness. Our brothers stole her, tore her clothes off, spun her around by the hair, crying she was the witch. Off with her head. Before we can stop we are dismantling the dolls. Pulling on their perfect arms and legs, plucking body parts like flower petals, singing he loves me he loves me not he loves me he loves me not. We climb from the window, digging holes beneath the bougainvillea, making tiny graves. Thorns slice our forearms as punishment. Blood smears on the smooth plastic and it really starts to  feel like murder. Swallowing the sick down, the guilt, the shame, we hurry back inside, scramble to reattach limbs and heads, but what we end up with is not what we expect. There is no ugly assemblage of mismatching parts. No freaks. No horrible Frankenstein...
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Victoria McArtor reads from "Not the Pine Nuts" (Issue 04)

Victoria McArtor reads “Not the Pine Nuts”     Victoria McArtor lives near Oklahoma State University. She was recently named a member of The Honor Club with Mutual of Omaha. Her poems have appeared in PANK, Hobart, H_NGM_N, Tupelo Press’s 30/30 Project, and others. Her fiction has appeared in Passages North and Cease, Cows. All of the above writing appears at victoriamcartor.com.

The Deep, Gnarly, Ugly Kind of Truth: Against Comfortable Art

  Issue 4 contributor Migueltzinta Cah Mai Solís Pino and writer Luke Dani Blue dialog on community censorship and the problem of “invulnerable writing”.   MCS: So let’s go on the homo-holodeck for a second. LDB: OK. *makes appropriate gay Star Trek noises* MCS: OK, computer, initiate program where Luke has just published a short story in The Paris Review, she’s posted it on Facebook, everyone has Liked it. LDB: I’m digging it. MCS: Computer, Luke and I are now at a brunch with our queer friends and I am boasting to them about how great her story is and isn’t it amazing that she got into TPR. Surprise! They offer half-hearted congratulations. They only read part of it. They give Luke weird ice stares and frost-misted shoulders. LDB: Bitches. And also, yep. I know we’ve both received plenty of those looks. But it’s more than the look. It’s the ring of silence that surrounds any creative achievement/expression that isn’t packaged as a political fundraiser or consciousness-raiser. And you know, if it was one time, it wouldn’t matter. But that icing-out has infinite microaggressions. It makes me think about when I was in my early twenties and every time I’d...
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