Our Amuse-Bouche series offers little bites once a month to keep you satiated between issues. Dig into a smorgasbord of genres every third Friday of the month!
It was cold the night Faruq let Narmina go. The draft climbed over his bare legs, sank into his pores and frosted through his insides. He shivered as he sat at the edge of the bed. He bound his knees in his arms, tried to tie up his naked body so that it would disappear into itself and rid the world of its ugliness.
Imagine a world in which removing your lover’s eye is normal.
You don’t come from this world, but at a house party in New Jersey, in an apartment across the street from an A & P, you meet someone who does. You’re sitting on someone’s bed, half-drunk and navigating a potential threesome, when they walk in, sunglasses on indoors at 11pm, holding a bottle of beer in a way that judges you.
Vic acts like the world is ending when he discovers my computer has been infected by malware that has deployed a Bitcoin miner to consume over 50% of my CPU and a size-able chunk of my electricity bill, but I shrug because I hardly notice my computer grinding to a halt, and even though I believe cryptocurrency and blockchain will only ever amount to vehicles of Ponzi profits and social harm
At the beginning of my professional career, after graduating Yale University’s School of Arts MFA program, my artists soul was torn between Flemish painting of the 15th-16th century and the ideas imbedded in the 20th century DADA art movement. Specifically I was drawn to the Apocalyptic visions of artists like Van Eyck, Bruegel and Bosch and simultaneously to the anti-art of Marcel Duchamp and Francis Picabia.
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/14.-Walking-in-Time-scaled.jpeg25602560Peter Bardazzihttps://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.pngPeter Bardazzi2022-03-14 14:00:542022-03-14 13:53:13Isolating The Apocalypse and The Unique Image
Hi Dad, When you died, I figured there wasn’t any point in writing to you. But since the world broke down last year, everything has shifted, including how I want to communicate with you. I know it’s been a while since I last wrote to you. Yes, I know—15 years. You value precision. You were devout about following the news, but has it all been too much, or what?
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/578C6F50-0AFC-4F1E-B2A6-11833EFE02FB.jpeg20431971JoAnna Brookerhttps://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.pngJoAnna Brooker2022-02-28 11:55:252022-02-28 12:19:58there are christmas lights across the street
My art is mostly inspired by Haitian artists or memories of my country as well as the Impressionist era. You’ll find that most of my artwork is faceless because I associate them with my fading memories. I’ve always found it hard to remember faces and features. My other creations come to me in flashes or my dreams.
I have in mind a kind of time
That can’t be measured by clock
Or monitored by calendar;
Time that isn’t tucked away
In packages of seconds, days or centuries,
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/11/ww.headshot2.jpg13991349Walter Weinschenkhttps://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.pngWalter Weinschenk2021-11-22 13:58:092021-12-11 17:31:57Time in Mind / I Saw a Mountain
on the evening, later,
at the second we realize the sun still falls.
At the mercy of the name
we will give it when language
turns brittle to touch. Later,
Thalassa was born at sea, on the waves of a storm. Because of this, she loved the ocean. Sometimes, it felt as though her veins were full of seawater instead of blood. […]
Gonzalo de la Peña, a forty-year-old schoolteacher from our village, kept crickets in little bamboo cages that he purchased from a roving vendor while visiting the Capitol. He kept the crickets as a hobby, though he had little time for anything but teaching (he was very conscientious) and running an orange juice stand at the market, a tiring job he performed day after day to earn extra money for his family and tedious in-laws [. . .]
You are digging a hole. You’re not sure why, but it suits you. It makes it easier that you like the people you do it with. Not that there’s ever more than one person to a hole—a hole is a completely solitary thing—but the ones digging nearby, you think they make good conversation. […]
Do not go to a birthday party the night your grandmother dies. Do not pick up a six-pack of White Claws (black cherry) on the way and then drink four of them while you look into your partner’s eyes defiantly, a challenge. Do not ask him if he will stop you, if he will nudge you toward considering the line between grief and excess [. . .]
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Cathleen-Calbert-Headshot-scaled-1.jpg25601706Cathleen Calberthttps://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.pngCathleen Calbert2021-08-16 12:57:542021-08-16 12:57:54Quarantine in Spring / Breaking Up
I wake up in the middle of the night. A single star winks at me. Photons fired out thousands, maybe millions of years ago, skimming space, slipping solar systems, sneaking past planets—one true beam sometimes bent by the gulp of gravity,mbut always adhering to its lucky destination.
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/Matthew-James-Friday-Headshot.png320213Matthew James Fridayhttps://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.pngMatthew James Friday2021-05-10 18:28:122021-05-10 18:28:12What Boys Think About Dreams/ The Wisdom of Photons/ The Fireflies
I made a new email to be professional—obviously I couldn’t go around applying for jobs as , and my cousin wasn’t going to keep paying for that domain name anyway. So I picked something regular. I tried my first initial + last name as my username, but bholman was taken. So then I put my first two initials, and presto, I became blholman, employable person. […]
The plunging water, the plunging light: replenished, stupefied and serene. It is so wide-open that what looks and feels like endless light shines through, then a glinting truth that looks like madness, the bald white hemorrhage of a gravity moving through the moon. . .
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/David-Hostetter-Headshot.jpg605600David Hostetterhttps://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.pngDavid Hostetter2021-04-26 15:24:582021-06-16 15:35:32The Sky / Weightless Treasure / A Neon Body / If I Die
Histoire D’amour
/in Amuse-Bouche / Robin GowThen, I glowed lattice and ladder.
A boddice of between. In the dark I left the ground.
My gender cutting holes in shadows. Portholes
and gloryholes. Meeting selves on the other side.
Across an invented expanse, nothing arrived
Ice
/in Amuse-Bouche, Fiction / Valmic Shridhar MukundIt was cold the night Faruq let Narmina go. The draft climbed over his bare legs, sank into his pores and frosted through his insides. He shivered as he sat at the edge of the bed. He bound his knees in his arms, tried to tie up his naked body so that it would disappear into itself and rid the world of its ugliness.
Achromatopsia
/in Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / Robin SinclairImagine a world in which removing your lover’s eye is normal.
You don’t come from this world, but at a house party in New Jersey, in an apartment across the street from an A & P, you meet someone who does. You’re sitting on someone’s bed, half-drunk and navigating a potential threesome, when they walk in, sunglasses on indoors at 11pm, holding a bottle of beer in a way that judges you.
Which Half
/in Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / Claire ScottTwenty three from you, my mother
half my body/mind
for sure my blue eyes
but not my right-handedness
which has made my life easier
Antigone in NYC
/in Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / Ann PedoneI have always hated writing about myself
I’m not photogenic
And I am afraid that my horniness
Would get in the way
But this is where we’re at
Slackers Rule
/in Amuse-Bouche / Karen Regen-TueroThey were in the car, Lee concentrating on pulling out of the driveway when Zack announced he was moving to California.
“All the best skaters are there.”
“Your family’s here.”
“I’ll visit. Once a year.”
“Ah, you’ve got it all figured out.”
Ownership Records
/in Amuse-Bouche / Lucy ZhangVic acts like the world is ending when he discovers my computer has been infected by malware that has deployed a Bitcoin miner to consume over 50% of my CPU and a size-able chunk of my electricity bill, but I shrug because I hardly notice my computer grinding to a halt, and even though I believe cryptocurrency and blockchain will only ever amount to vehicles of Ponzi profits and social harm
As the Salmon Runs Grow Thin
/in Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / Leland SeeseOur daughter has put herself
in hospital again.
I spend the day beside her,
talking, laughing, abiding silence
Isolating The Apocalypse and The Unique Image
/in Amuse-Bouche, Art / Peter BardazziAt the beginning of my professional career, after graduating Yale University’s School of Arts MFA program, my artists soul was torn between Flemish painting of the 15th-16th century and the ideas imbedded in the 20th century DADA art movement. Specifically I was drawn to the Apocalyptic visions of artists like Van Eyck, Bruegel and Bosch and simultaneously to the anti-art of Marcel Duchamp and Francis Picabia.
You Always Signed Your Letters, “Love, Dad”
/in Amuse-Bouche / Laura SturzaHi Dad, When you died, I figured there wasn’t any point in writing to you. But since the world broke down last year, everything has shifted, including how I want to communicate with you. I know it’s been a while since I last wrote to you. Yes, I know—15 years. You value precision. You were devout about following the news, but has it all been too much, or what?
there are christmas lights across the street
/in Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / JoAnna Brookermy neighbor drapes the strings the first weekday in december,
neon gold cords for inflatable mickey, santa, & snowman
melted simulacra until sunset when the front lawn descends
into a madness of bright blue icicles, rainbow garland
across the garage, pink orbs of love encircle a glittering present,
Nameless
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / T.j. PhilippeMy art is mostly inspired by Haitian artists or memories of my country as well as the Impressionist era. You’ll find that most of my artwork is faceless because I associate them with my fading memories. I’ve always found it hard to remember faces and features. My other creations come to me in flashes or my dreams.
Worth The Weight
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Margaret Adams BirthI cocoon myself
from memory’s chill
grip—wrap
layer upon layer around
heart and bones; flesh upon flesh. . .
Unrealized Lineages / Anthroposymbiosis
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Nicole Arocho HernándezWater is the first mother
but thunder roams in my body
for days before it
cracks me open:
horificio
Blue Cat / So
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Alex StarrYou blue cat
you’re just waiting
for your moontrane
to arrive
you feel anonymous
Moving Target
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Mackenzie MooreI like to know what to anticipate
little tacks . . . thinking about
what I didn’t know I
needed to worry about
I didn’t know you then. . .
Time in Mind / I Saw a Mountain
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Walter WeinschenkI have in mind a kind of time
That can’t be measured by clock
Or monitored by calendar;
Time that isn’t tucked away
In packages of seconds, days or centuries,
This moment hinges
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Cindy Zhaoon the evening, later,
at the second we realize the sun still falls.
At the mercy of the name
we will give it when language
turns brittle to touch. Later,
Never Mercy
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Mazzy SleepDon’t let go
Those words.
Let go of what?
I cast her a look.
Her feet
The Mahanas
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Kendra CraigheadThalassa was born at sea, on the waves of a storm. Because of this, she loved the ocean. Sometimes, it felt as though her veins were full of seawater instead of blood. […]
Mating Dance
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Charles HaddoxGonzalo de la Peña, a forty-year-old schoolteacher from our village, kept crickets in little bamboo cages that he purchased from a roving vendor while visiting the Capitol. He kept the crickets as a hobby, though he had little time for anything but teaching (he was very conscientious) and running an orange juice stand at the market, a tiring job he performed day after day to earn extra money for his family and tedious in-laws [. . .]
Wildfire
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Gabby VachonI walk the cradle to the grave.
The bassinet soaks my hair like hot foam
Like a drowning dance, my toes are pointed in my shoes. [. . .]
Holes
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Scout RouxYou are digging a hole. You’re not sure why, but it suits you. It makes it easier that you like the people you do it with. Not that there’s ever more than one person to a hole—a hole is a completely solitary thing—but the ones digging nearby, you think they make good conversation. […]
śōka | શોક | mourning
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Asha ThankiDo not go to a birthday party the night your grandmother dies. Do not pick up a six-pack of White Claws (black cherry) on the way and then drink four of them while you look into your partner’s eyes defiantly, a challenge. Do not ask him if he will stop you, if he will nudge you toward considering the line between grief and excess [. . .]
Neonatology / Kindergarten
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Holly PainterWe call him Hugo Apollo
a science fictional name
perfect for the first space
he inhabits after birth, [. . .]
Quarantine in Spring / Breaking Up
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Cathleen CalbertThe earth has washed its lovely hands of us. Enough!
so sayeth the world. Knock it off. Sit still and think
hard about all that you have done. […]
Growth / Homework
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Katie Kemple“The year when grandma turned one hundred, we
could not see her. Our pandemic eyes not
yet sprouted.”
What Boys Think About Dreams/ The Wisdom of Photons/ The Fireflies
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Matthew James FridayI wake up in the middle of the night. A single star winks at me. Photons fired out thousands, maybe millions of years ago, skimming space, slipping solar systems, sneaking past planets—one true beam sometimes bent by the gulp of gravity,mbut always adhering to its lucky destination.
bholman
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / Katie BurgessI made a new email to be professional—obviously I couldn’t go around applying for jobs as , and my cousin wasn’t going to keep paying for that domain name anyway. So I picked something regular. I tried my first initial + last name as my username, but bholman was taken. So then I put my first two initials, and presto, I became blholman, employable person. […]
The Sky / Weightless Treasure / A Neon Body / If I Die
/in Amuse-Bouche, Amuse-Bouche 2021 / David HostetterThe plunging water, the plunging light: replenished, stupefied and serene. It is so wide-open that what looks and feels like endless light shines through, then a glinting truth that looks like madness, the bald white hemorrhage of a gravity moving through the moon. . .