by Faune Vita
CRAPE MYRTLE
Pink as pepperoni
polka-dotting the promenade
bisecting some port city, South Carolina.
I wrinkle my nose at right wing reproduction.
Vibrant mid-July visions of eminence,
of lipstick, of lollipop.
One hundred day firework.
I ogle the peeling wallpaper.
No host for locust or plague,
nor foresight, nor war.
Logger’s loss. Whittler’s whimsy.
Bridges and bookshelves,
loosestrife lusted after.
Late bloomers, flash of fuschia,
of old flame. One final shake.
The cheerleader’s pom-poms burst
into confetti for the morning commute.
Dustin King would always rather be sneaking a bottle of wine into a movie theater. When nothing good is playing, he teaches Spanish and exchanges dreams with loved ones in Richmond, VA. His poems pop up in Prism Review, New Letters, Marrow Magazine, samfiftyfour, and other rad spots. He is a poetry reader for Sublunary Review and co-curates the poetry and performance event “Yodel Farm.” His first chapbook, Last Echo, is now available from Bottlecap Press. His second, Courteous Gringo, is out Fall 2025 from Seven Kitchens Press.
Allie Atkeson is a Virginia-born artist, oldest daughter and public health practitioner. She delights in nostalgia, live music, paddling and porch sitting with friends. She lives near Chimborazo Park in Richmond, VA with her dog Margo.
Faune Vita (she/her) is a queer writer and artist from the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas. She paints with her fingers, which is to say her body. Her work is an expression of feeling and sensation, exploring themes of illness, embodiment, and place and identity. In her other life, she teaches writing at a small college in Western Massachusetts.