Dotted Line Dotted Line

Poetry Winter 2022    fiction    all issues


Li Zhang

Ana Reisens
Pam asked about Europe
& other poems

Krystle May Statler
To the Slow Burn
& other poems

Kristina Cecka
On Remodeling
& other poems

Belinda Roddie
Bless The Bones Of California
& other poems

Summer Rand
Alexander tells me how he'd like to be buried
& other poems

Alexander Perez
Toward the Rainbow
& other poems

Karo Ska
self-portrait of compassion…
& other poems

David Southward
The Pelican
& other poems

George Longenecker
Stamp Collection
& other poems

Mary Keating
& other poems

Talya Jankovits
Imagine A World Without Raging Hormones
& other poems

Laurie Holding
Sonnet to Mr. Frost
& other poems

David Ruekberg
A Short Essay on Love
& other poems

Elaine Greenwood
There’s a thick, quiet Angel
& other poems

Richard Baldo
Carry On Caretaker
& other poems

Jefferson Singer
Dave Righetti’s No-Hitter…
& other poems

Diane Ayer
A Fan
& other poems

Kaecey McCormick
Meditation Before Desert Monsoon
& other poems

Meg Whelan
& other poems

Katherine B. Arthaud
& other poems

Aaron Glover
On Transformation
& other poems

Anne Marie Wells
[I'm crying in a sandwich shop reading Diane Seuss' sonnets]
& other poems

Holly Cian
& other poems

Kimberly Russo
Selective Memories are the Only Gift of Dementia
& other poems

Steven Monte
& other poems

Mervyn Seivwright
Fear Mountain
& other poems

Writer's Site

Karo Ska

with my mother’s freckle

an alabaster statue, my mother

chipped & cracked, only her left hand

still throbs with blood. underneath

the deep palmar arch, a freckle

we share. my hand is a map of

loss, a landscape of metacarpals & valley

bones, barriers blocking me from

the warmth of a mother’s unspoken

hugs. imaginary arms with no tongues.

time passes—freckles fade—i carry her

smile cleaved—time passes

she vanishes

the freckle—a shadow—a ghost

whose name i have lost

in the geography of my memory.

self-portrait of compassion as
contradictions necessary for healing

you put the pen down / you pick it up / you get out of bed / you don’t get out of bed / you don’t listen to your body / you breathe space into muscles / you walk / your toes leave crimson trails / you don’t write a poem / you write a poem for everyone / you don’t read the poem to anyone / your anxiety cave keeps you safe / you sign up for an open mic / spill merlot ink on the stage / you let yourself be late / you leave the house early / you make a mistake / you don’t blame yourself / you don’t take a shot of tequila before work / you sneak a flask to class / a friend you love texts you heart emojis / you don’t answer the phone / you brush teeth then floss / you don’t breathe / you hold your inner child’s hand / you cartography a new map / the cardinal directions aren’t smeared in blood / you follow footprints of cinnamon / honey soothes your wounds / you remind yourself one day at a time / you put the pen down / you pick it up

Karo Ska (she/they) is a South Asian and Eastern European gender-fluid poet living on unceded Tongva land. Their writing focuses on identity, mental health, survivorship, and the intersections of trauma and politics. Anti-authoritarian and anti-capitalist, they find joy where they can. Their first full-length collection, loving my salt-drenched bones was released in February 2022 through World Stage Press. For updates, follow them on instagram @karoo_skaa or check out their website

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