ISSUE NO. 7: UNORTHODOX

September 2021

This issue of Pearl Press features work from:

Alvin Ng
Ariella Gibson
Megan Hill
Sam Light
Kira Walz
Brian Lau
M. Apparition
Kailyn Hooley
Emily Mueller
Jenica Heintzelman

Cover image: Armando Zamora

Curated by: Delilah Twersky

Download the PDF below.

Frost Boil: Stephanie Taiber

is that all there is?: Armando Zamora

Solid Object: Stephanie Taiber

que esta luz sea tu guía, 2021: Edward Gia

Mary, Mother of Jesus, 2020: Edward Gia

Saṃsāra: Alvin Ng

It is both formless and eternal like water,
temperamental like the wind,
the light that guides with clarity but yet, blinding.
The darkness that is both foreboding and intriguing,
the warm presence of a lover in a stranger.

is that all there is?: Armando Zamora

Pleasure Me This: Ariella Gibson

A New World, 2019: Edward Gia

CHANGELING

She has a dead chicken in Her freezer,

feathers not plucked.

I didn’t mean to look

but I was seeking relief

as I sweat in Her attic with the window open

and the Passersby gawks.

And He sees my nakedness

And I stare back at Him

And My flesh feels heavy.

She brings me breakfast in the morning.

I do not know these strange fruits;

they grow on the street - but She tells me

to not pluck them and eat them

they are dirty

they must be washed.

the juice of the clean fruit

runs down My quiet lips.

Her children run around Her ankles

while My uterus sheds into Her toilet

and My sin stains Her sheets

but My blood washes out easy

but My flesh feels heavy.

The heat boils and bears down

breaking Me.

I sweat in this body.

She takes Me to the mountain pool

and She sees My nakedness

and My flesh feels heavy

and My flesh feels empty

and My flesh feels foreign

and the Passerby gawks

and Her dead chicken thaws.

Megan Hill

Pleasure Me This: Ariella Gibson

A Short-Lived Fault, 8 Stills from 16mm Film Self Portrait, 2017-2021: Sam Light

WHAT I WANT TO TELL YOU IS THAT I AM ALWAYS HEARTBROKEN.

I am always in grief. It is this grief that also brings joy, a sense of balance.

But I want to make it clear: I am always heartbroken. The grief that one feels at

knowing that you’re not supposed to be here, not supposed to be who you are,

only to be accepted in fractions, is always there. It is in the slight things. It’s a

slow, grating sense of rejection. It’s the feeling of only ever partially being allowed at the table. Of wondering if you can use your real pronouns on your university application or if you have to play by their gender game. It’s being confused when someone who doesn’t know you well enough, refers to you as “she” to another person and you have twenty seconds of wondering who the hell they’re talking about before you realize: it’s you. It’s laughing when your parents send a happy birthday card to their “dearest daughter” even though y’all have talked about it before. Numerous times. It’s wondering sometimes if it’s really worth all of the effort.

It is always lonely.

I turn to poets who have more to say than me.

Kira Walz