incubator, talking point, someone’s mother, sister, daughter, girlfriend—at least I could be. Sometimes the closet, and by that, I mean the hanger. Sometimes both the case & the point, asking for it, a burden, a dowry, a score to be settled, a martyr. The hunger & its clarity. Always, the target for the devil’s advocate. Sometimes, feminine divine—both Kali, the killer & Persephone, raped then killed. Sometimes the oppressor herself, white feminism with all its allegiance to capital. Sometimes the aggressor, those allegations could end his career. I think sometimes I am not woman but statistic, that white tanktop’s namesake. Sometimes, the back of a backhand. I hope sometimes to be the sharp turn of power. Sometimes, a miracle, according to Murdock, turning violation into blessings and babies. Sometimes the protected, when it suits the machine. Always watched, always the subject of debate. Sometimes, I think I am not woman but a forest cleared of trees in search of stakes, sometimes the stake itself, sometimes the fire, and always the one burning. With lines from Amia Srinivasan & Virginia Woolf.
Katey Linskey is a writer with poetry out and forthcoming in The West Review, Emerson Review, The McNeese Review, Contemporary Verse 2, Cobra Milk and elsewhere. She draws from her experiences growing up in Boston and later living in India and Guatemala. She spent eight years working in public health which continues to inform her work as a writer.
c’est pas un rêve I (model: Rebekah Hartensveld)
Sujash Purna is a Bangladeshi poet and photographer based in Madison, Wisconsin. He is the author of “Epidemic of Nostalgia” (Finishing Line Press), “In Love with the Broken” (Bottlecap Press), and “Azans for the Infidel” (Mouthfeel Press). His poetry appeared in South Carolina Review, Hawai`i Pacific Review, Kansas City Voices, Poetry Salzburg Review, Gutter, Stonecoast Review, and others. His photography can be found on Instagram @poeticnomadic