©Kate Leiper

Selkie

It’s not that I’m not comfortable in my own skin. It’s that I can’t ever be without it—it’s a harness in a handbag, holding me to the ocean with a hook and a thread. This is the life I wanted—a cottage, no Prince Charming but...
The realist masters have avoided the Appalachians and I have to assume that this is because fayeland is difficult to paint. What to do with the sounds of mushrooms unfolding through fallen hemlocks? How to ensure the advancement of each tiny...
Historic clothing created and modeled by Seamstress of Rohan. Photography by Helena Aguilar Mayans. Take a spoon, silver’s best, but any spoon Will do, so long as it is old. It should Be held in the left hand. Take it now, room To room...

Besom

Photography by Courtney Brooke Twenty eight broomcorn bunches in the center, seventeen on the outside, jagged bristles bound, many years ago I would have just swept up Cheerios and glitter, dirt; brooms were for cleaning. Now Besom, you’re bound for riding. Somewhen, I will cut the...
(for Jared) The city: metal skins cloaking thin, high stairs that step slyly to the side and flower into balconies or turn and twist into spires, piercing the sky to sip a heady blend of cloud and starlight. The river: lapping stair-roots trailing from...

Girl With Cloven Feet

Article taken from Issue #36 || Autumn 2016 Print || Digital A hunger for green things| starts in the toes, lingers at the hedges on deersoft steps. She waits for nightcover to track past clover and henbit, to garden lettuces and parsley and strips them down to topsoil. The hunger for...