"About the Work" with Amanda Gaines In our "About the Work" series, Savannah Trent asks recent contributors for insight into their writing or for current sources of inspiration. Read Gaines's essay, "Save the Heart, Save the Girl," in SER Vol. 39.2. In the 1981 film Possession, the titular character, Anna, becomes increasingly violent after miscarrying an unnamable essence in a subway. Many critics say her erratic behavior stems from the return of her husband, who she has bee

An Interview with Alessandra Lynch Natalie Tombasco Photo: Earl Alessandra Lynch is the author of three previous collections of poems, Sails the Wind Left Behind, It was a terrible cloud at twilight (winner of the Lena-Miles Wever Todd Award), and Daylily Called It a Dangerous Moment (finalist for the LA Times Poetry Book Prize and winner of the 2017 Balcones Prize in Poetry). She is Poet-in-Residence at Butler University and lives in Indianapolis with her family, four cats,

Catriona Secker Siphonophorae, 2021 graphite on paper, 18x24 cm Hopalong, 2009 graphite on paper, 10x13 cm Connections, 2020 graphite on paper, 20x25 cm Somnus, 2010 graphite on paper, 36x36 cm Nature Spirit, 2019 graphite on paper, 34x44 cm Nature Spirit 2, 2020 graphite on paper, 38x55 cm Plate, 2010 graphite on paper, 36x49 cm Half Flatworm, 2008 graphite on paper, 19x27.5 cm CATRIONA SECKER is an artist and teacher living in Sydney. Born in the UK, she moved to Australia

Kitsune no Yomeiri When my sister was dying on a ventilator thousands of miles away, I tried to astral project to her every night: eyes closed, palms up, back flat. When my sister was dying, I felt the urge to fuck—not make love to—my partner. I would tell him, “I need to do this because if I don’t do it now—before—then we might not touch. Not for a hundred years.” When you are about to lose someone, you do not cry when you think you might cry. When you are about to lose some

Save the Heart, Save the Girl She only used Prismacolor pencils. I think she had the same twenty-four-count set as I did. She only drew women, too, though better than I did, even at my best. She left pencil outlines unfinished, but lifelike enough to captivate anyone who looked. What I’d given up years ago to pursue a more “realistic” vocation in writing, she’d kept at, planning on eventually working at a tattoo parlor. She was just getting the hang of the stick and poke. Th

With an Amy Lowell Line Running through My Head Suppose we hadn’t met on the grass at golden hour, sat on a blanket with Moscato and flowers. Suppose the flash-flood hadn’t ambushed us, soaked sidewalk, dripping leaves. How can I describe the tiny moons glowing in your eyes? Last week, a little before first light, we lay in your bed—white sheets, marbled comforter—when you said Every time we have sex, I see colors, your fingertips climbing the cliff of my shoulder. That’s nev

Buffalo Girl for Triệu Thị Trinh History makes little bundles out of the unthinkable young boys carve three-foot breasts to keep your story otherworldly and ridiculous; a crisp blade slips from view We stand at the Albertson’s Customer Service and I hold my breath as you ready a well-worn trap discount oversight: grave mistake A set of eyes exhaust and I almost feel for our opposing force who does not kno

The True Wonders of the Holy Land i. Nadia Nadia wants to show me a picture of her fiancé. Look, she giggles, dangling a hot pink smartphone in front of my face. Her pre-wedding portrait looms into view. Handsome right? Quite tall? You like his suit? The man in the photo is totally nondescript. But Nadia herself looks like a supermodel, with layer upon layer of white lace dripping flawlessly down her silhouette. I’m sure that’s why she showed me this photo in the first place.

Let Us Have Our Own Suffering let us deny the way our lips curve around others’ mouths defined in terms of lack what if we schluck away any semblance of holier ground & decide nothing is worth our trouble everyone we meet needs to be loved endlessly blooded poinsettias so loud and dark let us invert who we are in a world that survives just as the rain revises the earth taking everything written & unwritten then melting it all equally into damp smudges of oil or newly-fleshed

Olympus They gave the gods attributes to disguise the cruel depth of their symmetry. There were only two, split apart into infinite pairs. Those first were alike in their single difference: one was more canny with his hatred than the other. He held it close, descending on lovers with barbs that unfolded from his veiled loins at the most final and tender moments while she razed the earth raw to make their sons pace through death until a city heaved up around it. We come to the