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THE ONES YOU LEFT BEHIND ARE STILL WITH YOU When you woke up, you said you wanted to plant an orchid inside your skull just to prove you can make something grow too—a skull that works as a construction worker, a botanist planting something that lurks around old hotels and bathroom stalls but inside everyone else's skulls too. Because you know one is never enough. And you don't trust yourself enough to believe in what you see even if it is an internet sensation. I'm sorry for trying to plant...
Photos by Eian Kantor Writer Joanna C. Valente’s work beholds the body, crafting lines like music to produce surreal, cerebral work. The founding editor-in-chief of Yes, Poetry, the managing editor of Luna Luna Mag, and a Brooklyn Poets instructor, Joanna is as much an author as a teacher. We sat down at Postmark Cafe in Park Slope to chat about Joanna’s intimate poetry, love for metal, and the undeniable wonder of Coney Island. “Poetry really speaks...
who practiced all year, only to lose to a guy whose every inch was covered in hum. And I am in awe to learn one cheeky bee clambered into the winner’s sugared ear, another slid into his nostril, and still— he didn’t flip. Just calmly waited for the bell to ring a victory. But even fifty-seven pounds of bees can’t stop the music I hear when I return to you, the music I hear when you walk near me. Like I’m always carried in enough good sting and thrum to...
Tell my mom I hit the avalanche with both hands, swept up the saw dust of old white men up to my abdomen made them listen to those who are actually losing their lives didn’t let them insert some woebegone bs into a conversation that extends beyond a nation or a tongue or continent Tell my mom I ran for the safety song of the forever-nomad swept up in the rubble of our oppressor, I never stayed still enough to be...

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