Obligatory Cat Appreciation Poem
By Ghia Vitale
Photo Credit: Pexels.com
It’s a privilege
to be the place
where a cat sits.
to be the place
where a cat sits.
Atrial Septal Defect Repair, Female, Aged 6 Year and More By Julianne Fern Basile  Writer's Statement: Julianne Basile is a proud parent from Northern Jersey. She draws her inspiration from the mystical, the magical and the just plain weird. Among her favorites poets are Neil Hilborn, Kahlil Gibran and Rupi Kaur. Her work has appeared in Plum Tree Tavern, The Stray Branch and Corvus Review.
Mean Fat GirlsBy Ghia Vitale  Photo Credit: Canweallgo.com Editor's Note: This poem is dedicated to Ali Thompson and Jude Valentin, two amazing fat creators.
When you’re fat and femme, thin people call you “mean” when you call out their bullshit and don’t take kindly to their disrespect. Dear Unicorn HuntersBy Ghia Vitale  Dear Unicorn Hunters,
My unicorn magic belongs to me. Don’t even try to exploit it for your pleasure. My Strange Ontological Ghosts These off-kilter objects are designed to gently name the strange ontological ghosts that surround our lives. This body of work was a way of understanding form by reverse patterning things to create soft copies. These particular works are not for sale, but I’m always open to fiber art commissions and other sales through Instagram or my website. In my more recent work I’ve rededicated myself to making my practice environmentally sustainable, which has involved sourcing used clothes as material.
Journey of Dreams Art Credit: Jack M. Freedman Nintendo introduced you, Kirby-san,
way back in 1992. You puffed, swallowed your enemies, sprinted, and danced-- iconic, harmony with every move. Wes's Pet Pig, Mr. Coffee Pot, Bomb with HorseBy Jean McLarney  The timeline of this dream is unclear.
At some point, Paul Fagan, my friend and an editor of an Irish studies journal, is asking me to look at a particular source, some Italian novel. I don’t know. Curry Turkey at the Gas Station, Tom By Jean McLarney  Tom and I are walking down Yonge St, talking. That much I’m sure about. Dreams are weird.
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