“King Yertle” by Mickey J. Corrigan
You are a man of your wordsbut your words are all lies. Your queen is an import but the rest go in cages, you paw …
The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
You are a man of your wordsbut your words are all lies. Your queen is an import but the rest go in cages, you paw …
Take out a month of green from your April heart. Spread a quicksilver green on the whitewashed walls. Paint a gut-wrenching green on the palls …
The shards of blanket comfort are all that remain—what framing work this is, what demeaning work this has become—begging like the hen baking bread. A …
In the dream, I’m falling. I tell you I’m falling. One arm hooked onto the ice shelf, the other wrapped about my boy, I fall …
“as I hunch in gnarly leather, drool, toothless,” #metaworkermonday
The summer after my first year of college the KKK had a presence on Main Street in my hometown for a few hours. Don’t know …
“In the dead and dark of night,/
upon a haunted gorge they rise.” #metaworkermonday
Did you, my beloved, notice the barbed wiresthat run along the length of the city,to separate you from me?Such walls of divisiveness are man-made:penetrating your …
We go grocery shopping with a pregnant woman who does and does not want the Hawaii rolls, a woman who drops the cockroach in a …
The longing of the round peg to become squareto belong to the holeand that of the piece of the jigsaw puzzleto be fitted into make it …
I sit and I stare, trying to peerinto the back of my beautiful sons’ eyesbecause I am looking for somethingthat I soon begin to realize,I …
I freeze, startled by the sudden flight of a mud swallow against the backdrop of a tilt-up building, swarm of chirping notes I cannot decipher, …
The house across from mehas caught aflameand taken it against water The firemen are comingtheir trucks yelling attheir speed. They are dressedin their shieldsand are …
When it was the fashionI too measured out my life in coffee spoons It was not only to youthat some things made no sensebut to …
may your eyelids be diaphanous parasols sheltering from the invasive light of the sunshielding as parables the blinding truthwhen love excites the eyesto things the heart …
I exist where you’ve kicked me Your boot rings the bell Cracks the shell Invites Hell’s inverted Sisters to rent a storefront At the …
I sat and held the world’s coldest hand.One whose skin had been taken by ice. The palm of a dried …
Someday we might meet,when time has melted in us,our lives look like dried river beds Would you then recognise my face? My face might appear …
There’s a man the silent world claims as Noah, standing at the cliff’s edge, looking down on us as we crawl across each other, his …
I fold the corners Of a very desperate sky. The stars I had to throw away, On highways that know Where they are going. With …
When bombs rattle the insides of houses, cafes, churches, Twisting and turning their intestines, Hurling their insides out, Bleeding them dry, What do the birds …
Nights are essays in loneliness words scrawled in the darknone to be retrieved, I stretch on the bed; disheveled like my hair,twinning with the night.My …
I don’t care if I’m dead as long as I’m still alive, in Heaven I mean though not Hell, I might be dead but I’ll …
Dust motes dance on sunlight streaming through a dingy window. Rusty mailbox, empty, always empty. Cadaverous cobwebs mocking back at him from a peeling wall. …
for a while there I was worried I had cancer. I even joined a gym though I don’t know why I thought it would help. …
I have always wondered About the mood, Inside houses that dress themselves In yellow tungsten bulbs, Once evening descends Like children running down the stairs. …
Melanie Gaughran is a university student in the city of subdued excitement, Bellingham, Washington. Particularly concerned with her internal workings and misworkings, she finds that …
the dust storms whineagainst the windowas cherry dreamsslide inside.Searching a marigold,a child’s eyes bob tothe tunes of morningas do butterflies rise fromchrysanthemum jars.And so does the …
Stand at ocean-side, exhale screams cut through dense air, her throat tightens releasing weird screeching caterwauls. The ice melts and Sibyl climbs the tower; in gown of …
Where I earn my nine fifty and change each week, rules of physics make the surreal far from cheap.
Under a sulfur streetlamp, your crisscrossed polymer strips that carve berths for beverages from empty air reminded me of the elastic and steel rigs worn …
1 These mornings, I wake to find silver threads in my hair — gleaming as if dipped in the winter moon. I have always loved …
One fanciful Calcutta summer the world maps were ripped off from overused geography textbooks in an act of innocent revolution. You cherry-picked ecstatic reds …
The war brought a boost to the flowermen’s activities, to which were added antiwar agitation among keelpods & rounding up draft dodgers. The great wave …
Not like in the motion pictures but we had our moments. There is no record, no pesky scribe seeking the “hows” and “whys” of it. …
I live in the pulse of unconscious patterns. My civilized mind remains incapable of interpreting the illuminated life I experience outside the limits of ordinary …
Halcyon and hurtful coexist in an apiary. On helicon’s rote appropriate ones reveille. In the middle of a horseshoe of memories I mime the lines …
everyday I am born like this – nothing ever happens for the first time I collect my shattered promises and get back home to my …
[w]ham-o Sam-o [Suitors Up!] [yellow] [look out!] [look out!] rainbows of [arrows] candies of crushes [beads] and bangles [open the vessels] hit it now [hit …
Unrelenting passion in a sonneteers delusion moving in rhythm with the windblown grasses hand in hand on a path through the hemlocks written vows of …
How can I forget you If your breath is on my skin, A peppermint sweet cloaked around my neck, Hair chaotic against my chest, Eyes …
comforting chatter from front-facing seat soothing justified cries in empathetic debate smoothing frosting onto clumping, cracked cake overflowing trashcan. No—it can wait Chemicals carve; his …
the click of the corkscrew against the bottle and art tore up and destroyed with matches. I see poetry now full of people wearing shirts …
It may not get any better Despite the that’ll-do-pig-that’ll-do condescending words of some highly carcinogenic celebrity whose comparative lifestyle may as well make them a …
Home, a major chord, played to sustain. Pattern of wallpaper’s texture ingrained into décor of mind. As chorus hook plays over reminisced wonder, synapses fire …
The snow in my lawn isn’t white. It is rusty like the color of my flowerpot. “Papa, can I go out and make a snowman?” …
Spindrift from your biocellate field leaves me smooth and serene, your voice hijacks my uneasiness. In the parlor of our pact flurries of foregoing …
I force myself to open the closed lids To catch a glimpse of my surroundings Try my utmost to overcome the lethargy Shake myself free …
the snow melts grey into late december and mean music is making a sudden comeback in the bars saxophones and tatters of rattled live drumming …
daytime gutter vomit scared to change your way from one that has been making you money color-segregated schools for the blind the increasing pressure to …
Some lands are royalty in just existence: the dragging of the boat from sand to sea, the thick of the tongue on the roof of …
“This is not a Democracy!” More equals loss… Fight like this great and disgusting world is laughing at us. We let this happen, we march …
Love like Eucalyptus or Lavender was sabuline. Cacoethes for your company I understand now: the arenosity I had to encounter by cholla-like jabs too. …
A road divider on our thoroughfare has been constructing since three major eclipses, going under the idea scalpel by fickle engineers – flowers or trees …
Damian Campana is a Creative Writing student at a community college in Rochester, NY. He is an aspiring creator. He is passionate about telling …
Life is supposed to be music But we are the notes not the listeners Maybe we are God’s music Chords being strummed on some cosmic …
Can your mind sustain the burden for the beating heart to heave? Will you bare the heaviness of being within a lightness of the form? …
Editor’s Note: Per the author’s request, we have left this piece untitled. * These crumbs are from so many places yet after every meal they …
D.M. Rice is a non-binary writer from Dallas, TX whose work has been featured in the Aletheia Journal, Sybil, The Bandit Zine, and the anthologies Rec*og*nize, …
Whatever be the season, perhaps you are the reason, for the shadowed man whom limps down the narrow lane. With help of a burled cane, …
Megan Denese Mealor has been published widely in numerous journal, most recently Children Churched & Daddies, Beakful, streetcake, and Harbinger Asylum. A two-time Pushcart Prize …
Four tea cups lay unattended since Mittag – on the black, bedraggled table in the canteen. You and I – drinking each other in— …
Now that you’ve passed-through woods deeper and darker than these — climbed into eternity — can you tell me, when our hearts stop, and we’re …
You’d expect the power button to be a rare diamond fueling a holographic desktop, folders overflowing in bitcoin. Or that answers just appear, thoughts as …
To know life is to greet knowing you won’t unmeet. To know life is to see your creators split into demigods, degrading into man and …
Gilded morning shatters sleep, dreams cling on with tenacious teeth. A confused reality sorting through a fragmented emotional state. Warm bed, cold toast. Sensations …
I have been raised to fear my footfalls in the dark to be a walking skirt is to sacrifice safety, sway like an open gate …
With Lines from “The Apple Trees at Olema” by Robert Hass Shakes me by the raw, white, backlit flaring of her lightning streaked hand. Fingers …
I watched you slide swiftly into the fog encapsulating Eagle Junction railway station. Scraps of rust leaking with oil-stained dew flung into the past, and …
SKIN is the bodies first line of defense. our metal shell wrap-around sometimes, your body can confuse fortress for prison, my mother is able to …
How did the despair become fluid for clear, dry eyes to shed? Why did the burden on the heart allow the stress and cause …
Tonight the battle will begin. But first, as the concealer smooths across my eye folds, I picture her breathlessly saying hello to him, always making …
I never saw my mother smoke; didn’t smell her lingering breath or see her brown stained teeth; nor did I take in the stench of …
No art without startle No belief without a lie No character without an act No business without sin No coffee without a fee No culture …
A Gymnast propels through the air after launching off the springboard. Camera flashes capture blurry movements: Facebook posts for later, if She wins. Judges dress …
Do not let this be the end. Do not bisect, dissect our time with before and after, with Now …
He stood outside the door asking for directions, lost hope in hand. Paying the toll with a pocketful of dreams. Aspirations evaporating at the sound …
As the dusk creeps through the summit the once luscious sun dips below the rocky mounts And flocks of birds soar away weaving intricate patterns …
Do not allow the quietness that saturates the halls of night break through the dawn. For it will shatter all perception of time …
Gracefully inept at life’s perfection gleefully disorganized and simple who put the milk in the top freezer? Sometimes I think gremlins reside here glowing and …
Fragments of dreams scattered among the ruins of once lofty ambitions, buried along with lost loves and white lace promises Standing tall against the crumbling …
The tweeker’s Boggy, alcoholic eyes Bulged unblinkingly Within inches of mine Setting the stage For mere players In this mosh pit At the intersection of …
You were the ocean foams, and I was the golden grains of sand. You were the heron that flew above, and I was the salty …
I used to pray for a wild soul risky enough to give me part of herself when she knows it is likely I will not …
Darling, listen. no matter what we do our fingers will end up blistered, our palms bloody if we look into the mirror long enough to …
Someone would love to have you for a daughter; Wouldn’t mind you in the attic, stealing their things. The walls would be yours, as …
The fog was making whispering sounds It was rising up from the earth Like spirits from the past I spit dust from my mouth …
She camouflaged herself at a darkened far table, idled away time by tapping a spoon against her drink glass; on the opposite side of …
A very pretty girl wears the same brown clogs every day sometimes. Between all the rain-soaked steps we took and the part where she left, …
We sit on the precipice of Heaven and pollution; you hand Me an empty box and promise Desultory protection. Our bodies, superimposed From two …
absent of pearls in a grand ocean mollusk crying self righteousness without salty tears seeking to find truth in an unrelenting fervor see the dark …
Sometimes I like to reimagine religion and the stories I was told as a child, so that it fits the way I understand the world …
If I were to outlive you, I would feel the poet in me blackening, nails pulling in like a sea of petals in the mouth …
I reveal the parts I want you to see you think you know me masquerade ugly thoughts inside my head mourning at the side of …
The doctor’s handsome and that makes it worse… more bad news from the lips of handsome men. We need more tests, he says. Well no …
Hypertension: Each bus line a grime-filled artery, Each soup line snaking concrete corners, slithering in human filth like wet soil, wet and thick …
What I’m saying right now is meaningless – because a word spoken alone is a word spoken in vain. Like a tree falling in an …
Let’s make this a pissing contest. Place your bet with mine. I’m bound to win if winning means a longer yellow line. ‘Cause yellow’s the …
I don’t think in Bengali, I think it is just one of those things that fold my body the way my grandfather used to. At …