photo album time capsule by Ingrid Calderon

Three Poems by Konstantin Nicholas Rega
April 6, 2018
Five Poems by Brent Cantwell
April 8, 2018







I didn’t own a Ouija board until I was much older

but I peed myself often.

Not accidentally but on purpose,

mostly in the shower

or in the car


That warmness was my blanket,

the kind of warmness I felt love could be.

I wanted demon lovers,

ones that would take over me,

indulge on my insides.

The kind that would tell me,

“don’t be afraid of looking ugly my love, they’ll still want you.”

…and inside that old condo

I lived next to a mortuary.

I’d see the dead come and go,

families crying,


I’d sneak over,

put my cheek against the open doors

indulging in indole and nicotine,

stealing flowers,

smashing them in my favorite books

like some still-born

in the crevices of The Rosy Crucifixion: Sexus, Plexus, Nexus.

When they’d leave to gamble in Vegas

they’d leave me alone in that old condo

and the lights would begin to flicker

and the blinds would fall.

If I was downstairs,

I could hear the stomping of heavy-feet above me.

So I’d creep up the stairs, lights on

and it’d be empty,

no one there,

just me and that Ouija board.

I’d place my ringed fingers on the planchette,

like piano keys,

and ask who was there.

“Who are you, tell me your name?”,

balcony door open,

a windy California night made for fires,

cigarette between my lips,

warm air like a heater,

and he’d answer…







I gave my money to some kid whom i had never met



waited looking through those pesky blinds

waiting for him to show up

with that blood powder

1 a.m.

2 a.m.

3 a.m.

3:33 a.m.

bright light shone

illuminating Willow Street

Jefferson Airplane’s Today pulsed through curtains

the light slowly faded into a hovering disk of portholes

looking down my cerebellum

felt my waiting

fed me its light

wondered why no cars passed

why the streetlights were off

no dogs barked

no sirens

felt my eyes film over

Bjork throwing things off

no regrets

heart thrumming in a loop

white rabbit


so I asked Alice

as my nose bled…

no answer,

he never came






3:33 a.m.

he’s here

heavy hands lost on me

soft beard

an ornament

on my mouth


#1 Crush plays behind traffic

(i would burn for you)

there’s love in his shadow

(feel pain for you)

his weight on my breasts

i can’t breathe

(i would twist the knife and bleed my aching heart,

and tear it apart)

pulls my legs above my head

thrusts himself inside me

hard and heavy

he can’t help it

(you’re just like me)





pets require attention

and mine left like an open cage

but my parrot didn’t need much upkeep

and Walter was my best friend and he knew I loved him

on those volcano hikes he knew

even when i left with packed bags he knew

we’d run around our mother’s dresses when the circus came

paint our faces like panthers

pounce on tables

walk on all fours

share mangoes

share silences

on my 21st birthday

I got handed a puppy on one hand

i felt the warmness of its fears on my hand

it slept in my bed

shit on my carpet

smile when i’d come home late

her tail whipping on the white walls

I named her Anaïs

she was honey-coloured

and danced in circles come Christmas

when grandpa died

we inherited his dog

and all i could think was

how we’d make room for him

but he fit in

arthritic and tame

only bit one person

so I’d knew to stay away from them

but like all beautiful and salient things

he died

and Anaïs died

i’m still not dead

but one day

I will be,

until then,

I require attention

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Ingrid Calderon is a Salvadoran refugee residing in Los Angeles. Her work has been printed in Dryland, Anti-Heroin Chic, Occulum, Bad Pony, Moonchild Mag & Gut Feelings Zine among others…Guilty of three full-length poetry books entitled ‘Things Outside’, ‘Wayward’ & ‘Zenith’. You can find her on Twitter @BrujaLamatepec