Parley Lit

Editors Asha Dore and Rebecca Tourino Collinsworth

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Parley Lit is a literary magazine mix tape of poetry, fiction, drama, creative nonfiction, music, and art. It is available here, on ParleyLit.com, and on Youtube.

10/02/2024

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | Alyson Shelton

Alyson Shelton writes about women across mediums + genres. In the film, To Hold The Night, she tackles a psychological thriller through fractured realities and self-invention. In her comic Reburn she centers a superpowered and mutli-faceted heroine, and in Eve of Understanding, the award winning feature she wrote and directed, the narrative delves into childhood secrets and their ongoing repercussions. She hosts a weekly Instagram Live series inspired by George Ella Lyon’s poem, “Where I’m From,” where she’s welcomed over 150 writers and creatives. And her own “Where I’m From” poem provides the spine for her memoir in essays, currently in revision. Her writing has been published widely at outlets including The New York Times, Ms., The Rumpus and more. She is thrilled to be a contributor to the forthcoming essay collection, Comics Lit Vol. 1 , to host her podcast, Fine Cut for Femme On Collective and to be co-founding a Sibling Loss community and co-editing an anthology entitled, The Loss of a Lifetime: Advice from Grieving Siblings on Loss, Love and Hope. You can learn more about her through her website, www.alysonshelton.com Intro music by Nuclear Peasant

10 min
10/02/2024

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | Ronit Plank

RONIT PLANK is the author of the short story collection Home Is a Made-Up Place (Motina, 2023) and the memoir When She Comes Back (Motina, 2021), about the loss of her mother to the guru Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh and their eventual reconciliation. She is the creative nonfiction editor for The Citron Review and hosts the podcast Let's Talk Memoir featuring interviews with memoirists about their writing process and creative life. Text of the poems are below: Sometimes I imagine you Frozen mid-stride Footsteps, halted Arms, lopped off Your heaving form Once coursing and molten Battered now, broken No longer rope-muscled and tromping You who had all that power Folding into yourself Heavy with your own weight Hemmed in and melting I watch you peer through Smudged-out eyes Distant ears Collapsing face So muted and soft Stripped Of all you were With no one left to bear witness Where will you go What will you do I have sorrow for This ripping away Those neighborhood boys broke into our apartment pool stripped their t-shirts off in the dark as if no one was watching but I saw them from my bedroom window their arms and shoulders so much more muscular than mine They dove from the cement ledge like they belonged there split the surface with a splash cooled their worn-out roving bodies slick with August nights If I had left my bedroom when they saw me watching crept down the fire escape after they called to me without my father knowing slid out of my clothes and joined them far from trash-choked sidewalks our broken-glass alleys above If I had allowed myself to plunge into that quiet rippling world maybe I would have found the softness I needed our bodies cradled together in those faultless currents underneath Rose Louise Hovick It was good when she held me close to her What we had different from what the others saw Her hands on my cheeks arms encircling mine smiling in the sun When she had the time When she remembered Singing washing clothes in the stream where we camped He loved me also To be in that sunlight almost too hard to look at the world was big so many people But I felt the heat it filled my whole body I was solid and heavy for once Now I feel pieces of me blowing away I can’t take what’s gone

3 min
10/01/2024

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | Liz Asch

Liz Asch teaches creative embodiment practices and methods of presence as a consultant, assistant, writer, collaborator, and acupuncturist. Working with the premise that the body is a renewable resource for the life of the mind, Liz is dedicated to discovering ways in which we can live more comfortably in our bodies and in the world. Liz holds a BA from Vassar, an MFA from Eastern Oregon University and a Masters in Acupuncture and herbal medicine. She is the host and creator of BODY LAND METAPHOR MEDICINE a dreamy archive of guided visualizations informed by surrealist art, pre-modern medicine, and somatic methods of embodiment, which help listeners center, self-regulate, and cultivate qi (which gives the sensation of acupuncture without the needles). It is free on Apple podcasts, Amazon, Spotify, Vurbl, and Stitcher.) Liz is the author of Your Salt on My Lips: (Mostly) Queer Literary Erotica (Cleis Press 2021), a celebration of eros across the spectrum of sexuality, with an emphasis on radical communication of desire and consent, and the healing powers of self permission. A 2018 Pushcart nominee, Liz is the recipient of the 2017 Willamette Writer's Kay Snow Award for First Place in Nonfiction (judged by Elizabeth Lyons), the winner of the 2017 Phoebe Creative Nonfiction Contest (judged by Elena Passarello), and she received honorable mention from the 2018 Pigeon Pages Essay Contest, judged by Garrard Conley, the 2016 Montana Book Festival’s Regional Emerging Writers Contest and the 2016 Calyx’s Margarita Donnelly Prize. Liz is the grateful recipient of a 2022 RACC grant and is a part of the 2022-2023 Art/Lab cohort of Jewish Portland artists. Intro music by Nuclear Peasant

49 min
10/01/2024

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | drew david combs

drew is an actor, poet, and playwright based in Seattle. He has been a proud member of Parley since 2017, with multiple workshops of his scripts and a micro production of death in the digital age. Favorite onstage credits include Joshua in John Baxter is a Switch Hitter at the Intiman, Anton in Parley's Anton, and Luke in Theater of Possibility's Love Letters. Intro music by Nuclear Peasant. The text of the poems is below. Making Up Words i am sitting in my room alone making up words: untree––the process by which roots are pulled up from the soil and the soul floats tetherless in the new world i am sitting in my room alone making up words: windowlonging–– the feeling one has when the lights of a city burn half a mile away and one is burning half outside oneself i am sitting in my room alone making up words: covery–– i am sitting in my room alone making up words: palindronomical–– the sense of the average universal chance that someone in a building perhaps not far away has just done the reverse of you i am sitting in my room alone making up words: grince and chacker–– the sounds the devils make i am sitting in my room alone making up words: curriculary–– how one must parent oneself after a falling or failing, as the case may be and how one must become by turns a teacher, tyrant, predator/prey, a beggar, batter, better bittersweet than salty i am sitting in my room alone! making up words! i am screaming at the bottom of my lungs from where the muscles tighten as i cough out “acuverity!” the pain of truth! “opralocution!” the difficulty of speech! “kleptonomy!” the inventory of thefts you’ve completed against me including but not limited to: 1. dentegrity 2. vivinium 3. aspernition and all these terms i have regained, thus lost insisting on subtext, on connotation i am lost in definition, still unable to achieve my own displastic satisfaction sonnet nº 18 (prayer sonnet) i’m begging you to let me eat you out. i need to know exactly how you taste. such ecstasy makes callous men devout and turns the head of rev’rence to your grace. i’m begging you to part your legs for me, to let me kiss your soft and secret skin. devoted moses drinks the salty sea: his godhead pleased by sacred holy sin. i’m begging you forgive me for this lust! i don’t deserve to worship at your seat. but if your heart fell open to my trust my lips and tongue would fill that heart complete. so cupid’s bow bends me to your desire, so pray you goddess, douse my foolish fire. drew david combs

3 min
10/01/2024

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | Erik Peters

Erik Peters Erik Peters is a teacher and avid mediaevalist from Canada. Erik's work with marginalised students has profoundly influenced his writing which has been published in numerous magazines including Coffin Bell, Superlative Lit, Prospectus, The Louisville Review, and The Dead Mule School. Read all Erik's publications at www.erikpeters.ca or @erikpeterswrites. The text of these poems is below: I Was Not Afraid I was reasonable. Level-headed. Logical. Even if the crow had abandoned its prize, and even if I’d been able to scoop up the writhing ball of fur using a Tupperware container, I probab;y couldn’t have saved it and, even if it survived, it would probably have bitten me and I don’t know if I have all my shots. And that proves I was not afraid. I Saw It Happen I saw it happen. She was- she was not. What was left went limp stiff limp. All the latex gloves and euphemisms couldn’t mask it. The Right Moment Father Oswald was sermonising When the inspiration struck. I was afraid it was not the right moment to grab a hymnal and scratch verses on the flyleaf then tear it out and shove it in my pocket. But perhaps it was the right moment.

1 min
10/01/2024

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | n8 heneghan

n8 heneghan is an independent scholar, poet, playwright, and punk rock drummer based in Seattle, WA. He received his PhD from the University of Southern California and has taught Japanese literature and culture at various institutions across the country. He plays in a band you’ve never heard of. The text of the poems is below: Driving State Route 641 on a Sunday Evening After the Reopening of Dairy Queen The pancakes closed down yesterday I’m not going to be here forever beer cans blowing in the wind she wanted rollerblades for her birthday The peak of depression The apogee of exhilaration Ambassador of french fries Pizza’s worst nightmare We’d take the stairwell instead of the elevator that’s all very well but what do you do in winter Waiting to inhale Home for theholidays The air is just too thick in this economy You wanted change but I kept wearing the same clothes for days on end waxing suicidal by the fireplace of all places Up on the rooftop there’s still work to be done we can’t ignore it we can only rely on our talents for so long we can only hope to get out of the house it’s not healthy to go out so much like it’s going out of style It’s hard to appreciate all the levels when you don’t know the original Polishing your handgun before bed sleeping with your teeth under your pillow many wholesome activities we can enjoy Your absence was an inevitability We are all grappling for meaning when we really mean it Your presence was felt everywhere and not at all Your career was in free fall there’s no other way to put it Of course impermanence never lasts forever though we’re certainly counting on it Immortality never gets old except when you’re misspelling your own name It shouldn’t matter either way Relishing the empty feeling of eating a hot dog casting aspersions on your collective bargaining agreement I’ve lived in so many places all over the world it’s a one-to-one correspondence vermouth and amaretto best friends forever maybe he has nothing to measure with Charmingly malignant couscous is always nice talking with you wouldn’t even offer a receipt or your meal’s free but who has time for that who has the wherewithal to bear this embroidery Doilies on parade The declination of definition Steak sandwich in buffalo Bison burgers in syracuse Come equipped for your mechanic when your car breaks down and no one can hear your indignation The upholstery could use an update on the goings on about town Autobiography of Bed I don’t think I ever got the whole story he lost his corduroy trousers in the amazon devoured the entire lake festooned on heroin overturned the buffet table on the way to the dmv was that it. The thesaurus was merciless last night the brontosaurus represented himself in court he was his own worst enemy. This headband is one of a kind he claimed you’ll never find another one like it. Some people fall asleep with the tv on some fall asleep with their pajamas half awake their dreams inside out and their pajamas over their headshalfway to bogota. They must apologize for the lack of human rights I have a weak constitution you must excuse me haven’t had a smoothie in a week. It’s only when you get a haircutin a foreign language that you realize you’re truly hooked. Fell asleep on the way to the car again couldn’t remember where I was parked was justthinking aloud in the park aren’t we forgetting something.

4 min

6 Episodes

Parley Lit is a literary magazine mix tape of poetry, fiction, drama, creative nonfiction, music, and art. It is available here, on ParleyLit.com, and on Youtube.

Creator

Editors Asha Dore and Rebecca Tourino Collinsworth
Years Active

2K
Episodes

6
Rating

Explicit
Show Website

Parley Lit

Parley Lit

Episodes

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | Alyson Shelton

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | Ronit Plank

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | Liz Asch

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | drew david combs

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | Erik Peters

Parley Lit | Issue 3 | n8 heneghan

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