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PROMETHEUS

After the eagle and the rock, after Heracles

Prometheus lived quietly and old

shuffling down the vine-shaded streets of Jbeil

he made offerings at the temple of Adonis

loved the thick luxury of lampsmoke at dusk

 

He loved tenderly plucking overripe grapes

careful not to burst their skin,

how they gave way

to his teeth, and the juice, and yes

this was like making love

Even old and human,

Promoetheus suspected

he could not die, not in Jbeil

any more than in those unbreakable chains.

Still, he fished.

The harbor was his favorite

He watched the Achaeminds, then

Alexander’s fleets appear

he watched the Ottomans sail in

and cast his nets the same

and was gentle with fish, too.

Gentle he worked his knife

Under the skin, removing the scales.

Gentle too he pushed

It into their bellies and gentlest of all

he pulled them empty.

 

Only periodically,

when he was sure no one could see

did he run his knife along his own belly,

drive his hand deep, and search for the place

where his own blood became a penance

he still felt he might owe to God.

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Shadow Play

Elly Kang

Oil paint

IN RETIREMENT

Author | Craig Finlay

l

Fal    

i

n

g

Composer | Chase Kuesel

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Nocturne with  Red Lights

Author | Eunice Kim

The past draws back

into the ribboned neckline of the city,

the little black dress of Seoul nighttime.

Hawkers offer bamboo steamer baskets,

lanterns to carve up the dark. Syllables of the language

I misplaced nine years ago. Grandmother

steps out of a eulogy, twenty-two years old,

and takes me to dance. The city corsages my wrists,

adores me for one second more, for one dance

more. When the clock strikes midnight,

downtown dresses up in teething neon.

Every shadow turns into a woman

selling her wares, heirloom bodies

in exchange for coin. I was told Grandmother

ghosted herself in pieces; the pearl-round cheek

and the bend of a shoulder and then

the convergence of her legs. Every night, she let the buyers

roam unshaven sidewalks, prowl through her skin

until the smashed fruit of dawn

came spilling across their beds. There are things we do

to survive. Still, tonight, Grandmother buys me

a lantern to launch into the sky

where the stars drip electric halos, each one

a moon shot out of orbit. For your wishes, she says.

Her dress waterfalls like a monsoon. Tonight,

​​her face is smoother than cloth, and lighter, too.

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Life and Death on Boca Chica

Artist | Marcelina Gonzales
Oil tinted resin collaged on wood

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De-

Escha

tology

Production | Mignolo Dance Company

Choreographers/Dancers | Charly & Eriel Santagado
Videographer | Brian Curry

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Things You Did After Your Best Friend Died Three Years

Author | Mei Mei Sun

     You wonder why you never loved her until she tasted the cool metal of her father’s handgun, and cry into your hands for the second time in your life.

Things You Did After Your Best Friend Died Three Years

and two personal renaissances ago. You mourn for six weeks, then use her death to excuse all of your shortcomings for the rest of the year. One night, your body full of hunger and youth, you carve her initials into your outer thigh with your father’s razor. Later, at a blazing house party, you trace over the scars with a hypodermic needle and black ballpoint ink. This is the memory you always go back to when you sob on the L.A. Metro on Tuesday nights, when even the security officers hesitated to touch you. That winter break, you vomit her blood out on the same bathroom floor where your mother had her miscarriage. Two years later, your computer malfunctions during a software update, wiping with it the only copy of the eulogy you had written for her. After two hours and six hundred dollars, it returns to you, wiped as clean as a child’s apology. As redress, you eat only red and black foods for a week. That same month, you show your crush her obituary on your phone screen during a football game. He never talks to you again, and you accept this as a natural consequence of your growth.

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An American in BucharestBrian Eisenberg
00:00 / 16:29

Self Portrait

Artist | Bjorn Bengtsson

Oil on canvas

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Secret Door

Artist | Kateryna Bortsova

Oil ton board with found objects

Desi in Her Mother's Dress

Artist | Ann-Marie Brown

Oil and wax on canvas

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An American

in Bucharest

Composer | Brian Eisenberg

To order the full version of Apricity Volume V, press the button to go to Store

Designers | Samantha Treviño, Nhu Nguyen

Web Developer | Nhu Nguyen

Apricity, Volume V, 2021

All works used are original or displayed with the permission of the source

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