My husband wants to know why the line is always broken. I say the poem is made of words, but the words are not the poem. The words are the way in. The broken lines are openings. I remember how his skin turned gold under a streetlight the first time he took off his...
We polish our big bellies with creams, we henna Eden vines on them, we Buddha rub them, as do strangers, for wealth. In birth class they tell us your body was made for this. They tell us your mothers were strapped down and drugged. We are capable of doing so...
I learned how to pick locks in prison. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon; the adults were drunk and some had paired off to have sex in tents pitched on the lawn. I was sitting on the scratched wooden pew of a picnic table, playing backgammon by myself. I shuffled the...
I hide my power in a cloak I hoard as anger. My jaw gears like a charging bull; hairs horn from my butting forehead. “sky. There is no edge from which to hang my plumb-line. No ledge on which to lay my spirit-level. And you are outside piling logs, working on your own...
Manolo called it the Everybody Laughs Scam, but as I approached the couple on the bench I found that prospect hard to imagine. The woman looked teary-eyed and the man had the strap of his camera bag wrapped three times around his fist. Manolo called it the Everybody...
Room would like to apologize to Yoko's Dogs for the formatting errors made in "Yellow" in issue 36.2. Room would like to apologize to Yoko's Dogs for the formatting errors made in "Yellow" in issue 36.2. Yellow I her cardinals return from the west printed on napkins...
The wind rolls down the street a rogue wave and breaks in the maples above. Great swells crest in the uppermost branches and it is alone a wonder how the little birds are not shaken loose from their limbs. The wind rolls down the street a rogue wave and breaks in the...
It starts with a river. Green hills, and promising flatland beneath them. All these trees go, and get lugged out of the clearing. The stone near the water is brought to the place where the woods once stood, and also the felled trees that lived there before, and this...
I ate my first raw peanut a few months before we left for Sudan. I was taken aback by its beany-ness. It is a bean, not a nut. I had known that, been told, “It’s a part of the legume family.” But in my mouth for that first time, it was transformed. Peanut. Pea-bean....
Sister Nora shaved Amritjit and Balwinder’s hair— “export the dictator from the province next door the twentieth century could be home” —Kimberly Alidio, Songs of Americas Sister Nora shaved Amritjit and Balwinder’s hair— walked them home herself by noon, school was...
ROOM 48.2 TRAVELLERS
In ROOM 48.2 TRAVELLERS we reflect, dream, manifest. Join us in these human ways of time-travelling, from infancy to the future, through relationships and into surreal realms.
ROOM 47.4 FULL CIRCLE
Step back with Room into the past, to parents, to childhood homes, and to people once known and loved; dig into themes of grief and healing; and ultimately explore what it means to come full circle in literature.
Seeking members who love literature, events, merchandise, and supporting marginalized creators.
Travellers | 48.2
$10.00 – $20.00
Wits End | 48.1
$15.00 – $25.00
Full Circle | 47.4
$15.00 – $25.00
Bodies | 47.3
$15.00 – $25.00
Seedpod | 47.2
$12.00 – $25.00
Utopia | 47.1
$12.00 – $25.00
Sponsor a Contributor
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Sponsor a Writer
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Sponsor a Poet
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Fever Dream | 46.4
$12.00 – $25.00