Shattered

by Lori Corry


The way it breaks is the way it was,
first it pops then it explodes
shattered glass streaming all around 
like covid, shattered glass like covid,
like covid, like the shards you cannot see
streaming all around like sparklers

We freeze, we fight, we live in fear

on the fourth of July.
Broken systems, broken life
cleaning it all up takes discipline,
takes a broom, takes a dustpan, takes a vacuum,
takes a fricking lot of time
to clear your life of invisible threats.
Do not let them tell you it’s not real.
Do not let them tell you its all in your imagination

We freeze, we fight, we live in fear.

Hold on to your broken heart tightly, so tightly
until it mends itself restored, resurrected,
repaired. Find the golden glue,
find the red thread, sew it all up again,
then stop, take a breath, make 
yourself a beautifully truthful mask.

We freeze, we fight, we live in fear.



Lori Corry is a year-round resident of Nantucket Island, MA. She spends time investigating feminine divine energies and gaining creative inspiration from the stories and myths of our world’s many goddesses. Her poetry has been published in Chronogram Magazine, the Lily Poetry Review, and previously on Global Poemic. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.   

Red Flags and Extra Ordinary Miracles

by Lori Corry


Kingston Hospital’s otherworldly oncology ward
was teeming with the gorgeous living kind.
They had names like Eve and Grace and Temperance,
the week my father died, their hands on my shoulders
reminding me that sometimes to love is to let it go.

A gentle push to save myself and someone else.

The knowing nod, the windshield wave, 
the sweet smiling woman in the old yellow toyota 
at Miacomet Ave and Surfside. 
We simultaneously slam on the brakes 
the man on the bike appears from nowhere.
Miraculous whispers to stop, to stop, to stop, to stop.

A gentle push to save myself and someone else.

It’s not how I’d expect the transmission to feel 
no winged beings appear, the sky does not open,
it’s more split-second decisions, the small moments,
the opportunity to tell the young mother with the tiny child 
playing in the surf from Somewhere far away 
that today’s rip tide is so strong, invisible forces 
pulling the living underneath the surface.

A gentle push to save myself and someone else

The old stones of evil are falling 
while the angels remain firmly planted.
Rosa rugosa scatters its brilliant pink petals 
all over the sand honoring all the beings
that could not be saved, still
I am standing here, at dawn.

A gentle push to save myself and someone else.



Lori Corry is a year-round resident of Nantucket Island, MA. She spends time investigating feminine divine energies and gaining creative inspiration from the stories and myths of our world’s many goddesses. Her poetry has been published in Chronogram Magazine and the Lily Poetry Review. Sabiyha Prince is an anthropologist, artist, and author based in Washington, DC.  Her books and essays explore urban change and African American culture, and her paintings and photo collages grapple with memory, identity, kinship and inequality.