A Eulogy for Sundays
I remember everything in that room, but I cannot remember what it felt like. How does one negotiate the presence and now absence of memory?
Mario Navarro Rosales
Contributors
Presenting contributors across eight countries for our Howl at the Moon issue with accompanying artwork by The Young Lass
A Woman in Public, from Karachi to London
Our bodies give us away, regardless of what we wear or how we behave outwardly; our bodies give us away because we can’t breathe until we step foot inside our safe spaces.
My Nose Was God’s Afterthought
my nose is sitting in the centre/of this poem like a prey waiting/to be devoured