WELCOME TO OPUS LITERARY & ARTS MAGAZINE
WELCOME TO OPUS LITERARY & ARTS MAGAZINE

Ember flares, breathe in. The crackle of ash tickles my throat, open your eyes, this wallow high never lasts long enough.    This group I’m in feels dizzy–– none of my friends see straight morality twisting, turning  birthing from our torsos, double helixes.  Like staying in bed all day.

Alice, noun; 1. There was a sparrow clasped on the hem of her gray shirt; flecks of orange in a brown braid trailing down; deep eyes; brown, and not at all cursory;around the lengths of the grace and proportion was com•plex•ion, curvature and collarbone; 2. hiding between ribs, an idea; a neck:

THE FACES BEHIND THE MAGAZINE

By Fara Ling Ah Ma,        A few weeks ago, I realized I have never written Ah Ma a letter. That means I have never told Ah Ma I love you. There’s no way to say it in Hokkien, Ah Ma’s mother tongue. Forcing the syllables wa ai lu to sit next to […]

By Gabrielle Crone            Only a hillbilly would bring their injured dog to the vet using twine as a leash.  At least that’s what our vet, Westley, announced when he saw my grandpa, Charles Bailey, in the lobby of the clinic twine leash in hand.  Gizmo had injured his paw, most [&helli

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