Articles

Former BR contributor Matthew Torralba Andrews’s How to Build a Bridge Across the Ocean, the C&R Press Summer Tide Pool 2024 Chapbook Awardee (forthcoming, April 2026), is a collection of linked short stories that shimmers like moonlight bouncing off the iridescent underside of seashells washed up on the shore, finally out of the shadows. Throughout …

Title: Theo Oil on panel 48″ x 36″ 2024 About “Theo”:This is Theo, he is the trans sibling that I have known the longest, he is also the youngest. We have known each other for a decade, since he was just seven years old. From Theo: “I’m going to college in the fall for creative …

The stereotype is true: college students party. The other stereotype is also true: that kid with the wire glasses and old sweater does not party. He vacuums and reads badly-written novels. Occasionally, he’ll call someone. Often, he wallows. He believes something must be wrong with him because no matter how good the day was, when …

My boyfriend wrapped my favorite collar around my neck helping me feel complete in the soft, faded leather nearly choking me, but with the two finger rule we knew how to play safely, so it felt more like a hug than a strangle, though at times I didn’t mind the feeling of tightness around my …

I am wearing the pendant you made / blue shimmer, edges worn down / I slip my finger through the center, curl around the sides / each made for a different sister, each cut from the same piece of clay, each given different selkie coats of glaze / oh, what are you creating? / stolen …

Architecture in the harp of the heart. I make my hands into watering cans. A friend cooks Condolence Lasagna. A neighbor neighbors her elder. Each day, the world asks to be born. Each day, the world wants to know who will mother the world. As I write this, garden ants snatch legs up my arms. …

Dear Reader, Let me begin by stating the obvious: we need art more than ever right now. We need honest and courageous words, and we need people thoughtfully engaging with them. Thank you for being here and taking the time to listen to the voices speaking through Issue 90 of Bellingham Review. This issue is …

We return to our remains, to what is left of usI can’t hear it. I break the voice inside me; I break it and stab it til it screams, then doesn’t screamI know that I’m going crazy when I realize this exhaustionWhen I go back to who I really wasI do not mean the place …

We were told to ground the rattles of snakes into a powderand mix it with water to form a solutionthat will ease the suffering of childbirthand prevent the foliage from turning red and yellow. The pigments rise to the surface if leftunchecked, drawing in every last packet of light that it can, pocketing the change …

They would have named you something different if you hadn’t arrived greased and furred. In the birthing room, each attending mouth drawn into every contortion of O: grief, awe, horror, growl. Your eyes were filmy, your belly radiating iron heat. Someone fed you fabrications by the spoon-full about what you could be. Love was altered …