CONTENTS
# "Flowers, Books and Candies" by Jinyoung Chloe Park
# "The First One" & "Write The Earth" by M. L. Hansen
# "When You're Too Tired To Take Your Pills" by Marissa Glover
# "Ring of Keys" & "The Chappy Ferryman" by Ed Brickell
# "Maze" & "Rise Slowly" by Jahin Claire Oh
# "Tiny Things" by Art Heifetz
# "Saffron Stain" by Ferdos Heidari
# "A Fish Market" by Dylan Hong
# "Never Had Been" by John Zedolik
# "Finally It Happens" by Alaina Hammond
# "Socratic Soliloquy" by Catherine McGuire
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Letter From The Editor
Dear Readers,
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September has overcome us, Autumn has sprung and engulfed us in its bright colours and seasonal chill. I had expected to release this volume sooner and for that I must apologise, the contents however of this our 11th Volume of Spare Parts Literary are definitely worth the few additional weeks of anticipation.
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To much delight this quarter we have seen an uptake in Play submissions, and in submissions from creatives under twenty, two trends which have sent joy radiating through our editorial team. With uncertainty magnifying the future of our crafts it is profoundly encouraging to see young writers and artists striking out and pursuing publication without waiting for permission or perfect conditions to do so, reminding us that passion and the conviction that what burns within us must be expressed are still enough to send this community charging into the unknown. Likewise, with the future in mind it occurs to me and I'm sure to many that with the extreme influx of digitally generated content our collective pendulum of preference may take a violent swing toward live performance, to unique experiences of the performing arts; to sight and touch and breathed words, to gatherings and shared spaces and theatre-etiquette phone bans. Consequently to see a sharp rise in playwrights submitting work for our consideration feels just like the stirring of those first contractions of labour, and the potential implications of such a movement has served to recharge our hopes for the future of all threatened creative expertise.
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Autumn, the torch carried into the darkness of winter, the burst and burn of fruit and foliage in the face of the coming cold, and hope, the half whispered expectation, the cataloguing of signs and suggestions, the breath-held belief that there is still a brightness for us on the horizon. These two somewhat opposing motifs appear to find an oddly perfect synergy in the works enclosed within this quarters offering. A delicate dance of mourning and morning, of harvest and blossom, of release and renewal. And it is our hope that Volume 11 inspires that same peculiar fusion in our readers.
So let us send you into the pages now, please enjoy this extraordinary collective.
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Faithfully,
Oak Ayling
Oak Ayling
Editor in Chief
Vol. 11
FLOWERS, BOOKS AND CANDIES
BY JINYOUNG CHLOE PARK
Jinyoung Chloe Park is a high school student attending a school in Boston, Massachusetts. With an unwavering passion for art, she is diligently curating her art portfolio. Beyond her artistic endeavors, Jinyoung finds joy in creating handcrafted objects and expressing herself through K-pop dancing.
THE FIRST ONE
M L HANSEN
Eyes can follow
Hummingbirds in sleep
where something keeps that first spark drinking of itself
& in all those dreams the first vivid migration
down where the handprints rose painted along the cave walls;
You can think about chord wood in spring
while the clear nectar waits in Her fluted Feminine self's fragrant
outstretched offering to drift across the light as if
the world could still be re-made in our toxic shadow.
It's a small dream of chord wood delivered
a pile of it, to be restacked in the rain, split wood to split again,
that wears its lichens & mosses like war medals
while the lady of bloom, wing, wind & wave,
through the grass blades is always arriving.
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WRITING THE EARTH
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Calligraphy antennae silhouettes in sunlight will go on writing the earth
in dust,pebble & magnetic field language the insects are puzzle
piecing together the rot with the riot overhead
or in the galleries under ground where roots are reaching for
the water & the fire for the multitudinous other map that they are;
look into all these compound eyes seeing you back into the daylight-
those who are tunneling thru the unseen of a day
& who more than them, are wing wired with irredescence
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Michael L.Hansen Lives in Gold Bar Washington with his Wife Diana. He works as a Merchant Mariner for his livelihood.
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WHEN YOU'RE TOO TIRED TO TAKE YOUR PILLS
BY MARISSA GLOVER
1. Breathe
Breathe like an athlete
warming up for a basketball
game—slow, hold, steady.
Stretching hamstrings on the floor,
quick dips on the lowest bleacher
rotates too-tight muscles before layups.
No one’s watching. It’s just you.
The stands will fill soon.
2. Remember
How Nate felt, coming home
to find his wife cold and blue
on the fancy tile floor, hand knotted
around an empty bottle.
How his whole world spilled,
puddled around her lifeless body.
3. Think
of sapphires glinting
in yellow gold, the brightest hue
of Septembers. Autumn’s cool
breath on your face, a kind of CPR
until your heart beats again.
4. Count
the ways you call your children
—darling, baby, sweetheart—
and the ways they call for you
when bruised or bleeding or in need
of dinner, clean clothes, money for gas.
5. Sleep
if you need to sleep.
But not forever.
Not now. Not yet.
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Marissa Glover lives in Florida, where she’s busy swatting bugs and dodging storms. Her poetry collections, Let Go of the Hands You Hold (2021) and Box Office Gospel (2023), are published by Mercer University Press. Her poems have been seen in the Lascaux Review, MugWort Magazine, Black Nore Review, Atrium Poetry, Ink Sweat & Tears, and other journals. Follow Marissa on social at _MarissaGlover_.
RING OF KEYS
BY ED BRICKELL
Stuck in one of those forever drawers
in a room that has lost its purpose,
tangled trio of keys on a plain ring.
Their teeth betray no familiar language
of opening, no profile of reassurance
after long despairing searches.
I must have been fearful for their world,
thought the life they unlocked
still existed, waiting to begin again.
Or that someone else would slyly dig
through landfill strata, take them over
to open and own what had been mine.
There have been a few precious things in my life,
secrets to be locked tight out of sight.
“Don’t tell anyone your business,” Daddy said.
I know these keys are guarding what’s been lost.
Dull brass finish, whiff of old pennies.
I put them back. My hand smells like blood.
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THE CHAPPY FERRYMAN
His face shines with sweet resignation,
Melancholy of a man who deals with people every day.
The rules for the ferry: unwritten, cracked open one at a time
Like fortunes in cookies. None favor your crossing.
Everything you are doing is wrong: paying for your passage,
How fast and far you pull forward, where you stop your car.
You learn each rule after breaking it. Once you’re aboard,
His thumb slowly rises. Being human takes approval.
Your blunders take a short break. You cross in a few blinks.
He waits in a brooding, timeless silence.
Waves out of his control smash and scatter
On the grey Chappaquiddick beaches.
The wild salt wind trespasses everywhere
Without paying him for toll.
But to return from this chaos to your world,
You must show him the ticket.
You must wait in the appointed place,
Which he reveals after you have failed.
Another day of squally confusion,
A tiny voyage, choppy with your mistakes.
Yet the Chappy Ferryman still waves goodbye
To you and all your struggles to get things right.
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A 2025 & 2026 Best of the Net nominee for poetry, Ed Brickell lives in Dallas, Texas. His poems have recently appeared in The Harvard Advocate, Bracken, Delta Poetry Review, MORIA, Susurrus, and others. He is working on his first chapbook, Wonderful Copenhagen.
BLAST
BY KARL MILLER
Cast of Characters
MAN: Middle-aged male.
WOMAN: 25 to 35.
BARTENDER: Middle-aged male.
DATE: Older, distinguished looking.
Place
Las Vegas
Time
1962.
Setting
Bar, decorated subtly with period pieces. Late 50s-early 60s pop music plays softly in
the background.
(BARTENDER stands behind a bar, polishing glasses. MAN enters and walks up
to BARTENDER.)
MAN (to BARTENDER)
So – what’s in an atomic cocktail?
BARTENDER
Equal parts brandy and vodka, mixed with dry champagne.
WOMAN enters.
WOMAN (to BARTENDER)
Sounds delicious. Make me one, too.
BARTENDER begins fixing the two drinks.
WOMAN (turning to MAN)
So – have you seen one of these before?
MAN
No, it’s the first time for me. Actually, it’s my first time in Vegas. I wanted to see
one before they stopped.
WOMAN
Right, right – that treaty they signed with the Russians. I guess it’s a good thing.
MAN
I hope so. So – is that why you’re here, too?
WOMAN
No, no – I live in Vegas. I’ve seen a lot of these – probably too many. I’m
supposed to meet someone. (pause) So are you here just for the blast?
MAN
No, I’m here to visit someone who’s ill.
WOMAN
Sorry to hear that. Is it serious?
MAN
I’m afraid it’s terminal. I was with him all day, so I needed to get out a bit and
clear my head.
WOMAN
Watching one of these will do it – hard to think about anything else when you see
it. (laughs) So where’s home?
MAN
Boston.
WOMAN
Just like the president!
MAN smiles slightly.
MAN
Yes, just like him.
BARTENDER hands them their drinks. Quiet for a moment as each take a sip.
WOMAN
It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?
MAN (drily)
Vegas hotels are everything people say.
WOMAN
Sounds like you don’t approve.
MAN
No, not at all. I just prefer some place more – sedate, I guess.
WOMAN (slightly flirtatious)
I can do sedate.
Pause
MAN (deflecting)
So, when is your friend supposed to arrive?
WOMAN
Anytime now. They’re pretty punctual about lighting these things off – right at 4am – so I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.
MAN
How did you and your friend meet?
WOMAN (slightly awkward)
I meet a lot of people in my line of work. He’s just one of them.
MAN
What is it that you do?
WOMAN (more awkward)
I . . . entertain them. (Uncomfortable pause.) So, what is it that you do?
MAN is about to answer when DATE enters from opposite side of stage and walks over.
WOMAN
Here he is now. (WOMAN turns and waves to DATE) Hey there!
DATE smiles and embraces WOMAN.
DATE
Hey there to you!
WOMAN
I almost thought you weren’t going to make it.
DATE
Oh, I’m pretty reliable. (pause) Who’s your new friend?
WOMAN
Actually, we didn’t even exchange names yet – isn’t that funny? (laughs) This is ... (pauses for MAN to respond)
DATE
He doesn’t need to answer – I already know. (to MAN) What is a priest doing here at a rooftop bar in Vegas?
WOMAN (to MAN)
You’re a priest? And you know my date?
MAN (drily)
Yes, I’m a priest. And you could say I know him.
DATE
We haven’t met formally, but I can sense someone . . . like him. (to MAN) How strange it is that you’re here drinking in a bar at almost four in the morning with someone like . . . her. And without your collar no less? I wonder what the bishop would say.
MAN
I’m sure he’d have no issues with it.
WOMAN
If you’re a priest, why is it that you’re not wearing that funny collar?
MAN (hesitating)
It’s important that I’m discreet about the person I’m here to visit.
DATE
Oh, yes. We wouldn’t want anyone to know the precious Church visits people of
the sort he’s here to see.
WOMAN (to DATE)
How is it you know so much?
DATE
I’ve been around a long time. After a while, you just kind of know things.
MAN turns to BARTENDER.
MAN
I’m sure her date would like a drink.
DATE
Oh, no – I never drink. A glass of water would be fine, though.
BARTENDER shrugs and prepares a glass. As BARTENDER hands the water
across the bar, MAN spills his own drink onto DATE.
DATE (to MAN)
Clumsy!
DATE brushes the drink off his clothes.
MAN
So sorry. (tone says he’s not) That might leave a stain. You probably should go clean that off. After all, those clothes look expensive.
DATE glares at him.
DATE (to WOMAN)
I’ll be right back.
MAN (sarcastically)
Of course you will.
DATE exits.
WOMAN
Are you sure you two have never met?
MAN
Not formally. (pause) How long have you know him?
WOMAN
We’ve gone out a few times. Whenever he’s in town he calls me up.
MAN
I’m not sure it’s best you see him.
WOMAN
Well, it does seem a lot of the dates don’t turn out well. (thinks) Maybe all of them haven’t turned out so well. One time, we were at the Sands, and a guy was up a hundred grand at the craps table. He bet it all – and as soon as my date sat down at that table, the guy lost everything. Right at that very moment. And my date had the strangest smile on his face when it happened. Then there was the time in the desert. He wanted to go out at night and see the stars. We drove out a good distance, a long way from the light. It was so dark that you could see all the stars so clearly like I’ve never seen them before. He stopped the car in the middle of nowhere and just got out and stood there, staring up. It was the weirdest thing, like he was longing to be there. Such a sad look on his face. (pause) And then . . .
MAN
And then . . .?
WOMAN
Oh, nothing.
MAN
No, go ahead. Please.
WOMAN
It’s embarrassing. Especially saying this to a priest.
MAN
Believe me – I’ve heard everything.
WOMAN (hesitating)
Well, sometimes he winds up hitting me. A lot of guys are into that. You’d be surprised. It makes- things - more exciting, I guess. It’s part of the job. (stops) I really feel awkward saying this to you.
MAN
It’s OK. Keep going.
WOMAN
No one has hit me harder. I . . . have never been so scared as I was with him.
MAN
So why do you go back?
WOMAN
I don’t know. There’s something about him I can’t resist. He never actually apologizes. He always just says he’ll be different – but he never is.
MAN touches her shoulder sympathetically. Quiet for a moment. DATE returns, walks up to them.
DATE
I hope I didn’t miss anything?
(MAN and WOMAN glance at each other. DATE looks at them quizzically.)
Apparently I did. Is something wrong?
MAN and WOMAN are quiet.
WOMAN (harder edge to her voice)
No, nothing. We were just talking about Vegas. It’s his first time here.
MAN (flatly)
Yes. Quite a town.
DATE looks at them suspiciously.
DATE (to WOMAN)
It seems your mood has changed a bit.
WOMAN (forced brightness)
No, everything’s fine.
DATE
Great. Great. Glad to hear it.
WOMAN
I’m just getting a bit of a headache.
DATE
Oh?
WOMAN
Maybe the drink hit me wrong.
DATE (skeptically)
I see. Well, let’s just see how you feel a little later.
WOMAN
I’m sure it will pass.
DATE
It’s happened before. You always seem to come around.
WOMAN, MAN and DATE are quiet for a moment.
BARTENDER
We’re about ready to go. (looks at watch) Put on your eye shields.
MAN, WOMAN and DATE each take heavy sunglasses from the BARTENDER and don them.
BARTENDER
5, 4, 3, 2, 1!
A flash offstage. MAN, WOMAN, DATE and BARTENDER all stare in its direction.
DATE
It’s beautiful.
WOMAN
Horrifyingly beautiful.
MAN (quietly)
No, just horrifying.
MAN, WOMAN and DATE turn back to the room and take off their glasses.
BARTENDER takes off his glasses as well and resumes polishing glasses.
DATE (to WOMAN)
Well, shall we? (gestures to leave)
MAN (to WOMAN)
Maybe you could stay a while longer?
WOMAN looks at MAN and DATE and stands frozen indecisively between them.
(Blackout.)
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Karl Miller's fiction and poetry have appeared in numerous periodicals; he also wrote the plays A Night in Ruins (Off Off Broadway, 2013) and Afterward (LA, 2021). A Best of the Net nominee, Miller lives in Coral Springs, FL.
MAZE
BY JAHIN CLAIRE OH
RISE SLOWLY
Jahin Claire Oh is a twelfth-grade student attending high school in San Jose, California. She enjoys coding and takes an interest in media art as a hobby. She prefers warm tones over cool tones and is generally drawn to calming imagery with naturalistic depictions. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with friends and occasionally visits local art exhibits.
TINY THINGS
By Art Heifetz
​I speak the language of
flamingo tongues
scrawled in ancient script
upon my shell
I am translucent
like a cleaner shrimp
studded with blue beads
I wear the finery of nudibrancs
turning over to reveal
my fancy crinoline
I am a yellowheaded jawfish
launching my slender form
from a hole in the sand
I have the elegant plumed head
of a juvenile drum
weaving back and forth
like a lost child
the comical face of a goby
peering out from a sponge
the spotted pea-shaped body
of a juvenile cowfish
floating under a ledge
I am a golden sea horse
struggling to stay erect
winding my tail around
a trembling sea rod
to see me you would need
the patience of a frogfish
lying in wait with its lure
but distracted by
larger more important things
you swim on
while I vanish in the blink
of a flounder's eyes
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Art Heifetz teaches ESL to immigrants and refugees in Richmond, Virginia. He has published 240 poems in 26 countries, winning second prize in the Reuben Rose International Poetry Competition.
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SAFFRON STAIN
BY FERDOS HEIDARI
CHARACTERS
AVAT — woman late twenties
ZAR — woman late sixties
BAHAR — girl six years old
HAMID — man early thirties
RAHA — woman late twenties
PLACE
Iran
USA
TIME
Different time periods—when in Iran
2017—when in USA
THE SET
The stage shows signs of a peculiar mess inspired by both the American and Iranian
culture. The stage is the first character of the story. We have time to look at it and take it
in before the other characters step in. It represents an unbalanced combination of two
cultures. These two cultures coming together for this story is not with the purpose of
showing the beauty of them but to show a unique mess. It is to portray a crisis. It shows
indecisiveness and becoming lost. It embarks on the questions: “Who am I really?”,
“Where do I belong?” and “What is my space?” for any Iranian who lives in America or
all the immigrants.
Sounds of Iranian traditional songs and a classic David bowie song are amalgamated
together before the play begins. It doesn’t sound good, and you don’t know which one
you’re listening to. Colorful lights are coming from everywhere adding to this mess. It’s
too much and almost a little bit blinding to stand on the stage.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
All the characters should be played by Middle Eastern actors if not Iranian. It is strongly
recommended for the actors to have a Farsi accent. Everything takes place on the stage
including costume changes, make-up, or scenery changes during the transitions. Nothing
is hidden, show the process and the mess. There are no exit and re-entry: none of the
actors leave the stage once they enter; they stay on the stage after their scenes. Are they
bearing witness to what’s happening on the stage? Or are they minding their own
business and simply living in their own world? The answer is up to you.
“So, here you are
Too foreign for home
Too foreign for here.
Never enough for both.”
-Ijeoma Umebinyuo, “diaspora blues”
ACT ONE
SCENE 1: eggplant stew
A curtain is lowered down in the middle of the stage. Avat and Zar enter and stand on each side of the curtain holding their phones.
Phone ringing sound.
Avat paces back and forth and Zar stands still.
ZAR
Did you eat?
AVAT
Yes.
ZAR
What did you eat?
AVAT
Eggplant stew. It didn’t taste as good as yours.
ZAR
Does it feel like home?
AVAT
It strangely does. But a second home. You can never choose your first home but a second home...
ZAR
Are you happy?
AVAT
The wind feels softer on my skin and the sun is warmer on my hair. Everywhere I look feels like a blank canvas and I’m holding fresh paint. I feel like I’m breathing more and the oxygen is getting to the bottom of my spine. Does your body feel lighter when you’re happy? I feel like the pattern of my walking is changed. Each step is wider. I walk like I have somewhere important to be but then nobody will blame if I don’t get there. I never knew how to unclench my jaw but here...
ZAR
You are happy.
AVAT
But. I miss it.
ZAR
What do you miss?
AVAT
I left because I wanted to leave so badly. I got what I wanted. But is it wrong to miss
what I wanted to get away from?
ZAR
No. You left and that is a gift. Do you know how many times I wanted to leave? But I
stayed.
AVAT
Why didn’t you leave?
ZAR
What do you miss?
AVAT
Why did you stay, Mom?
ZAR
I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. I was scared.
AVAT
I never knew.
ZAR
What do you miss?
AVAT
The small things. Houses with gardens full of fruit trees. Entering the house and having a
familiar smell.
ZAR
You were always sensitive to smells.
AVAT
The texture and taste of a ripe apricot as I bite into it. Apricots here aren’t the same. I
miss how my nails and fingertips got brown after eating raw walnuts.
ZAR
We had to cut down the walnut tree after you left.
AVAT
I miss going out and hearing everyone talk in Farsi.
ZAR
Call me whenever you want and I will talk Farsi with you for hours.
AVAT
I miss walking in alleys sank in the smell of jasmine trees.
ZAR
Should I mail you some dried jasmines?
AVAT
I miss your eggplant stew and saffron rice.
ZAR
Do you eat well there?
AVAT
Eighty percent of my brain is English grammar and vocabulary. I have to chew on the
What and How of my sentences multiple times before I open my mouth. “Did I say it
correctly? Did I sound right? Do I have too much accent?”
ZAR
Isn’t this a small price for what you dreamed?
AVAT
It is. But... am I really free?
ZAR
Are you?
AVAT
I feel like you can never be one hundred percent free. You might be free from one thing,
but you aren’t from the other thing.
ZAR
At least you tried. Isn’t that something? You are brave. You aren’t simply leaving one
location for the other. You’re leaving people, familiarity, childhood, roots, comfort,
warmth, favorite restaurants and maybe parts of yourself. To build it all up from scratch?
AVAT
Mom, am I building it up?
ZAR
You are. (ZAR walks around out of helplessness.) There’s so much you can do with words and thousands
miles of distance.
AVAT
I do something weird when it gets hard and I feel lonely. I close my eyes and I whisper “I miss my maman” in my heart. Then, I get embarrassed. “You’re an adult”, I tell myself. But it calms me because I know there’s someone who is waiting for me somewhere and misses me too.
ZAR
Azizam. I wish I could tell you to come back. I wish I could tell you “I will be at your
house in an hour.” (pause) Dance, Avat jaan. Dance.
AVAT
What? Why would I?
ZAR
Simply because you can. (closes her eyes) Go out in the rain and dance free. Touch the rain on your face and hair. I don’t think they will give you looks there. They won’t ask you to stop, right?
Rain sounds. (Zar slowly begins to move her feet like she’s painting something with her toes. The
movement slowly moves up to her hip, shoulder, and arms.)
ZAR
Dance, azizam. Your body. The walls around your body. They don’t exist there.
(AVAT stops pacing around.)
ZAR
Do you remember that man from the super market on that Avenue? He had the best peaches in the city. His niece played tanbur in the summer afternoons and he tapped the ground with his cane. Then, he took the tanbur and played it himself. I always thought his fingertips smelled like melon, peach and strawberries. Every afternoon you asked me to take you there. You always got that Micky Mouse chocolate ice cream and you danced as they played. The ice cream was melting and dripping from your small fingers. But you danced and danced and danced. The sound of your laugh and tanbur. Chocolate stains on your clothes. The summer smells. Last rays of light before the sunset. You reminded me of the core of life. You...were...life.
(AVAT slowly begins to move around. The movements look a bit forced and awkward like a machine’s engine turning on after a long time.)
ZAR
Go outside of your house. Dance like life is like a basket of summer fruits.
AVAT hesitates for a moment but she slowly moves her body. A classical Persian melody with tanbur plays. They’re both dancing in sync now.
ZAR
Dance with your chocolate stains. Dance like it’s summer all-year. Dancing is like calling your body yours. The hip. The hands. The neck. They all have a life of their own. Let them move and they will give you life. The dancing becomes more intense. It’s like detoxing the body. Intense, fast paced, full of
joy, longing, and a pinch of madness. It looks like a ritual to find a new way to live.
(They both stop, out of breath.)
AVAT
I miss you maman.
ZAR
Me too azizam.
SCENE 2: dream tickets (?)!
Lights on the second half of the stage. Avat lays on the luscious red Persian rug center stage.
Exhausted, a little dead both on the inside and outside. The sound of a baby crying. She gets up to leave the stage but the baby stops. Avat’s phone rings.
AVAT
Hey—yes—no—he’s out—Did you pick them up?—I couldn’t leave the house today,
Bahar wasn’t feeling well again. I will come to take them tomorrow morning —Raha, no,
you’re not going to say any of those words—I know…—It’s so real now...Like I’m a
little scared—No, I should NOT be scared—Bahar is sleeping—Am I good? (pause) I
don’t know. Is it okay to not know if I’m good or not? Shit, okay, yeah, I’m not good. I’m
not good but I’m happy! That doesn’t make sense, right? Feelings are complicated. I feel
like I have to constantly remind myself this is the right decision—I know he’ll be mad.
Mad and furious but I also know he loves us. He should come with us. He will.
Otherwise—
(Hamid enters.)
AVAT
I have to go, I’ll call you later.
HAMID
Hi.
AVAT
Hey.
HAMID
God, I’m exhausted (sits down next to Avat) How are you?
AVAT
I mean, look at me. (points to the stains on her shirt)
HAMID
You look beautiful, as always.
AVAT
You and your beautiful lies!
HAMID
I’m serious. Where’s Bahar? Is she feeling better?
AVAT
A little? I gave her the medication. She’s sleeping. Tea?
HAMID
With cardamom and a pinch of cinnamon?
AVAT
Yes. We don’t have anything sweet though. We haven’t gone shopping in weeks.
HAMID.
I know. We don’t have time to do anything. Mostafa got me some baklava yesterday from
his trip to Turkey. It’s in the kitchen.
(Avat brings tea and a plate of baklava.)
HAMID
I can’t believe his daughter is eighteen years old. How would Bahar look when she’s
nineteen? Anyway, I told you he sent Nasim to study in Canada?
AVAT
He sends his children to study in Canada and tells other people how fantastic it is to study
and live in Iran.
HAMID
I know you never liked him.
AVAT
What does this have to do with me liking him or not? I’m talking about his hypocrisy.
HAMID
You just don’t like him because he convinced you that moving out of Iran isn’t as good as you think it is.
AVAT
Convinced me? I just didn’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone by giving him a very detailed outline of how hypocrite he is.
HAMID
Can we just have a normal small talk? And I don’t know talk about how terrible the weather was today.
AVAT
How was the weather today, honey? Oh yeah, terrible, very bad weather. What did I have for lunch? Nothing.
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Ferdos Heidari is an Iranian playwright, screenwriter, and poet. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. Her work explores migration, womanhood, memory, and dislocation, often weaving the lyrical with the political. Ferdos's works have been recognized by institutions like the Barnfest Contest and featured on Coverfly's Red List. She writes across languages and landscapes, tracing the private revolutions within everyday lives.
TYRANNY
BY SUSHANT THAPA
I rest with the blanket of sky
On a hilltop.
I can see kites flying
And hopes descending.
People have to fly the hopes
And not sale painful labor abroad.
This is a world
That has been sold.
We live in a bubble.
I feel the mirror is lying
When it cannot reflect
My inner critic.
I let myself out of the swamp
But the green leaves
Cannot buy
Like money.
Words might fade,
Yet it speaks
When the tyranny
Is a battle idol
With a big pride
Showcased as
An example for all
In a museum.
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Sushant Thapa is a Nepalese poet who holds an M.A. in English from Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi, India with Nine books of English poems and one short story collection to his credit. His poems are published at The Kathmandu Post, International Times, Dissident Voice, Mad Swirl, Trouvaille Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Outlook India, Corporeal Lit Mag, Indian Review, etc. He is a lecturer of English.
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A FISH MARKET
BY DYLAN HONG
Dylan Hong is a 15-year-old student from Seoul who attends an international school. In addition to his passion for art, Dylan enjoys swimming, sailing, coding, and playing video games. His work often reflects his diverse interests and the vibrant energy of youth.
NEVER HAD BEEN
BY JOHN ZEDOLIK
A spray of sharp arms and fingers
with a shower of foul language
all to raise heads and heartbeats
at the diner then the man escorted
out with polite but determined force,
the purveyor of which soon returned
alone to explain his charge a diabetic
having been seized by one its blood fits
thus of no ill intent, the reason giving
another one for the patrons to exhale
in safety before sipping more coffee
and downing more eggs before murmuring
to all or the near companion their understanding
and ease now the threat that never was has
passed into the street where no eats are to be had
so good feeling returns to the aluminum box
that is now specter-free of sound and motion
above and beyond the soft clink of fork, knife,
and spoon while contentment, good digestion
rise in this season like a well-fed full summer moon
John Zedolik has published poems in many journals around the world and recently published his fifth collection, Lovers’ Progress (Wipf & Stock). His other collections are The Ramifications (Wipf & Stock), 2024; Mother Mourning (Wipf & Stock), 2023; When the Spirit Moves Me (Wipf & Stock), 2021; and Salient Points and Sharp Angles (WordTech Editions), 2019. All of these are available through Amazon.
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FINALLY IT HAPPENS
BY ALAINA HAMMOND
ALBERT and MELISSA enter ALBERT'S hotel room. There is a suitcase by the bed. They are both 32, semi-casually dressed. He wears a wedding band, she an engagement ring. She carries a purse, he carries a small briefcase.
Albert: Here we are.
Melissa: My first time in a married man's hotel room! You'd think I’d feel… a little guilty.
Albert: Maybe if you were a normal woman, here for a normal reason.
Melissa: I know, right? Thank god I’m not!
Albert: Thank god. Would you like a drink?
Melissa: Um, thanks. But, I mean, do we have time? I was only going to impose on you for five minutes.
Albert: Right. I have a great deal of work to do.
Melissa: Important secret glamorous dangerous work?
Albert: I can neither confirm nor deny that. (ALBERT & MELISSA laugh) But we do have time for a glass of champagne.
Melissa: Ooh, fancy! (MELISSA watches ALBERT take out two individual bottles and two glasses from his suitcase. ALBERT pours.) Wait a minute. Were you planning on asking me up? If I hadn’t asked?
Albert: Of course not. I knew you’d ask.
Melissa: Oh, I’m predictable.
Albert: You are. (ALBERT hands MELISSA a glass)
Albert: To predictability!
Melissa: That’s your toast?
Albert: It’s underrated. Trust me. (ALBERT and MELISSA clink)
Albert: But you’re right. There’s something else for us to celebrate. How long have
we known each other, Melissa?
Melissa: Since we were eighteen, so….fourteen years. (realizing how old they are) Good lord, how did that happen?
Albert: Fourteen years. When was the first time you told me you loved me?
Melissa: Twelve years ago. We were in New Hampshire. I was crying. (to self) That was awkward. (to Albert) Sorry!
Albert: Yeah. (thoughtfully) The awkwardness might not have been… entirely your fault.
Melissa: Mmm. There’s nothing that burns quite as hot as the shame of non-sexual rejection. (beat) Except maybe sexual rejection. (beat) No, they’re both pretty bad.
Albert: I’ve put you through some stuff, haven’t I?
Melissa: Albert. You were kind to me. Could you have been kinder? Sure. But you were kind enough to let me slowly worm my way into your heart. Break you down. Grow on you.
Albert: I should have acknowledged the fact that we were friends years ago.
Melissa: Holy… We’re friends?
Albert: Did I not make that obvious at dinner? Yes, Melissa. Congratulations. After fourteen years of putting up with my ridiculous indifference, your friendship is officially requited.
Melissa: Totally. Fucking. Worth it.
Albert: (smiling) I’m glad. You know, you’re my first… nevermind.
Melissa: What? I’m the first female friend that you didn’t want —on some level— to bang?
Albert: Uh… Yeah. You are literally the only woman I’m neither related nor married to that I’d be comfortable having here.
Melissa: That’s flattering AND insulting, but mostly flattering! Our friendship in a nutshell!
(ALBERT and MELISSA clink glasses)
Melissa: Speaking of people you’re married to, I look forward to meeting Hannah.
Albert: Oh, you haven’t met her, I keep forgetting.
Melissa: When would I have had the chance to meet her?
Albert: Please accept my apology for not inviting you to the wedding. That was stupid.
Melissa: How about if I invite you to mine, you attend with your wife and child, and we call it even?
Albert: I like that idea. I also like James, by the way. I forgot to mention that at dinner.
Melissa: I was talking so much you could barely get a word in edgewise. I’m glad you like him.
Albert: I’m happy for you. He’s smart, he’s stable, he obviously loves you.
Melissa: Yeah. (beat) Plus he can go for hours.
Albert: OK, I don’t need to know that detail. We’re friends, but we’re not—like—girlfriends.
Melissa: No fair! I’ve seen pictures of Faith, and even though she’s three years old, and a girl, she looks exactly like you! In a good way! So…Why do YOU get to implicitly brag about your sex life and potency, but I can’t?
Albert: Because the world favors those who reproduce.
(ALBERT and MELISSA clink glasses)
Albert: Are you… thinking you and James will have kids?
Melissa: I don’t know. I don’t know, first I need to finish grad school, and maybe turn into something vaguely resembling an adult.
Albert: Even if you decide not to have your own, I think you’re going to be an excellent child therapist.
Melissa: Thank you! Because, you know, I’ve been in therapy even longer than I’ve been in grad school. And also I’m a child. So, I’ve pretty much got my bases covered.
Albert: Plus, you have great taste in books. Faith loves the one you sent her at Christmas.
Melissa: Hooray! No offense to Hannah, but as much as I can’t wait to meet her, I even more can’t wait to meet Faith! It’s a cannot-wait paradox!
Albert: Well, let’s see. Have you and James set a date yet?
Melissa: We were thinking sometime in the fall. I love the crispness of the air, the color of the leaves, and the fact that I won’t make gross pit-stains in my gown. (beat) I run hot.
Albert: But enough about your personality.
(MELISSA and ALBERT laugh)
Albert: The fall, huh? We’ll be there. All three of us.
Melissa: I’m so excited—I get to meet your lovely wife and daughter, and then I get to spend the rest of my life with some random guy I’m crazy in love with! That sounds great!
Albert: It does. It is.
Melissa: (taking a serious tone) Albert, I love my parents, I really do. But I’ve never seen a happy, functional marriage up close. You have one, I know. Is it…what is…what do I do?
Albert: I can only speak for myself. But I don’t think you’ll find it excessively hard. You love, and the rest works out well enough. You just love. As you’ve consistently shown in your life, you’re good at that.
Melissa: (gasping dramatically) I AM! I’m TERRIFIC at love! (beat) Oh, speaking of which. The reason I came up here. We should get to that, right?
Albert: Right, right.
Melissa: Because in order for it to be meaningful, it has to be private.
Albert: I totally agree.
Melissa: It’s not that you’ve never hugged me. You technically have. But usually in public and never—
Albert: Deeply.
Melissa: Yes.
Albert: I was… self-conscious. Forgive me.
Melissa: There’s nothing to forgive. I love you, Albert.
Albert: I love you too, Melissa. (It just sits there. It is obvious he has never said it before.)
Melissa: (Rubbing her eyes, fighting back tears) Oh crap, just once I’d like to hug you and not be crying.
Albert: It’s OK, tears no longer frighten me.
Melissa: Good, because I warn you, I’m pretty leaky.
Albert: I’ve known you since we were eighteen… I’ve never noticed.
(MELISSA and ALBERT laugh)
Melissa: Enough foreplay. Let’s do this thing.
(ALBERT and MELISSA hug. They’re very close. They pull away slowly)
Melissa: (acknowledging how significant their hug was) Wow.
Albert: (agreeing) Yeah.
Melissa: You tell me you love me for the first time, I get a real hug from you, and now I get to go home and… “cuddle” the man I adore. (beat) Yup. This is probably the best day of my life.
Albert: Glad I could be a part of it.
Melissa: (Going for her purse) So, I’ll call you in a couple of weeks, OK? I should have more wedding details by then.
Albert: If it’s a weekend, I’ll be there.
Melissa: With wifey and kidlet!
Albert: That’s the plan, yes.
(A loud, strange beep indicates ALBERT has gotten a text message.)
Albert: Jesus Fucking Christ!
Melissa: That’s a dramatic text message! You never swear.
(ALBERT takes out an odd-looking phone and reads the text)
ALBERT: Oh. OK. Mel, I’m going to say this as calmly as possible. Call James. Call him
right now. You don’t have time to go home, but let his voice be the last one you hear. (as
he takes out his regular cellphone) I’m calling Hannah.
Melissa: …
Albert: I’m not going to look at you again. No offense, I just want to picture her face in my mind. But sit with me on the bed. Hold my hand. You deserve human contact and so do I.
(MELISSA grabs her phone, calls James and sits next to ALBERT. ALBERT takes MELISSA’s hand, his back to her. The odd-looking cellphone beeps again.)
Melissa: (jumping from the bed, still holding her phone against her ear) Oh my god!
Albert: (reading the text) Shh. It’s allright. False alarm.
Melissa: He hasn’t picked up yet!
Albert: False alarm. Give me your phone.
(MELISSA obliges)
Albert: It’s OK, Melissa.
(brightly) Heyyy, James, it’s actually not Melissa but Albert, using her phone. Yeah. I
just wanted to tell you how great it was to meet you earlier today, and to tell you how
happy I am that you’re marrying my dear friend. But I thought I’d steal her phone
because I’m lazy and I don’t have your number. (laughs) Oh, great. You too, man.
Thanks. Bye.
(to MELISSA as he hands her back her phone) Forget it. Forget everything I said. Except for
the fact that I love you. Remember our genuine, unselfconscious hug. But what happened
after that…never happened. (pause) Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless.
Melissa: Albert…
Albert: Yes?
Melissa: You will be at my wedding, right? I mean….I am getting married, right? And you’ll be there?
Albert: Uh… (thinking, not sure how much to tell her) You said you were thinking of getting married in the fall?
Melissa: (quietly) Yes.
Albert: I’d like it to be earlier. Not summer, you’re gross and hot in summer, you adorable thing—Make it March. The weather’s not so bad, and… (searches) You’ll have time to breathe. Take a nice honeymoon with James, it doesn’t matter where — as far away from fall as you can get.
Melissa: I love you.
Albert: Yeah yeah, I love you too. Don’t you pay attention?
Melissa: I asked you years ago to love me. I ask you now to forget about love. Love is nothing if you’re not around to feel it. Just. Please. Fix this. Do whatever you have to do. Warn anyone. Any measures you need.
Albert: (painfully) … I can’t. Don’t you get it? I love my daughter more than the world itself. If I could do anything, anything at all… I can’t.
Melissa: (beat. With a false levity) Oh well, at least I’m loved.
Albert: Yeah, and you’re getting laid tonight. My significant other is in another state.
Melissa: The end of the world must be nigh… You acknowledged sex!
Albert: And you’re still irreverent. How comforting.
(Without warning, MELISSA throws her arms around ALBERT’S neck, embracing him as if she were a child. He returns her hug, but a bit awkwardly this time, using only one arm.)
Melissa: You’re hugging me the way you used to! I want a real hug, like the one we had a minute ago!
Albert: Sorry.
(ALBERT wraps his other arm around MELISSA. She starts to cry, softly, into his
shoulder)
Albert: Shh. Shhh. Don’t cry, Sweetheart. I mean it, please don’t. Or I’ll start crying too. It’s all going to be OK. Just breathe.
(ALBERT takes a breath)
Albert: Breathe.
BLACKOUT
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Alaina Hammond is a poet, playwright, fiction writer, and visual artist. Her poems, plays, short stories, philosophical essays, creative non-fiction, paintings, drawings and photographs have been published both online and in print. Print publications include Havik, In Parentheses, LitBop, Superpresent, [Alternate Route], Paddler Press, and Rock Salt Journal. Over fifty of Alaina’s original plays have been produced off-off Broadway. As a playwright, she’s probably proudest of Goth Principal. For her role as Inez in No Exit, she was nominated for a BroadwayWorld Off-Broadway Award (Best Performance, Off-Off Broadway). She holds a BA from Marlboro College and an MA from Columbia University. She lives in California with her husband and son. @alainaheidelberger on Instagram.
Playwright's note: Finally It Happens was originally produced at Stage Left Studio in Manhattan. It was directed by Michael Bordwell, starring Irene Antoniazzi and Ben Guralnik.
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SOCRATIC SOLILOQUY
BY CATHERINE McGUIRE
I watch bubbles swirl and pop;
the dish soap’s tensile strength
allows a bubble long(ish) life
to travel across the Sea of Sink
skirting submerged cups, greasy pots,
bouncing off other bubbles, large or small
silver-pink domes dancing, sudsy arcs,
eyeballs peering into the world
wildly reflecting their tiny seascape,
precious, precarious,
mysterious, random –
oh god, just like me.
I remember a stoned evening, mesmerized
by their elegance.
I remember other days, morose
at their brief lives.
For what was this bubble-brief beauty made?
For what was awareness; my entanglement
with foreboding, foreshadowing, fore-anything
set in motion?
These bubbles are nothing;
these bubbles are the essence
of what I must understand.
Catherine McGuire is a writer/artist with a deep concern for our planet's future, with five decades of published poetry, six poetry chapbooks, a full-length poetry book, Elegy for the 21st Century, a SF novel, Lifeline and book of short stories, The Dream Hunt and Other Tales. Find her at www.cathymcguire.com
