Oatleaf

 March has come to an end and we'd like to say thank you to our wonderful contributors! We are so, so glad that you chose Oatleaf to showcase your work. ... We are grateful to: Vash Owen |  Echoes of Eternity Sia Moon |  Fur Malorum Marsal Soren |  Middle of Nowhere Noah Berlatsky |  The Last Time ... We appreciate the work you put out into the world!

 ... The last time I saw my parents was not the last time I’ll see my parents, probably. But it’s coming, slowly across a shorter distance like walking my mom down the walk with her cane and her new knee out to the big, twisted tree. “There’s a lotus flower there,” Mom said, “in the crook of the tree.” It blooms once a year, but I missed it. She laughed, because what can you do, and we walked back up the walk. Maybe I’ll see it next time. ... Noah Berlatsky (he/him) is a freelance writer in Chicago. His full-length collections are Not Akhmatova (Ben Yehuda Press, 2024), Gnarly Thumbs (Anxiety Press, 2025), Meaning Is Embarrassing (Ranger, 2025) and Brevity (Nun Prophet, 2025). @nberlat.bsky.social | Bluesky https://www.everythingishorrible.net/

 ... Long live the untouched village. Long live the odds every villager adores. Only rivers where they row to home, and their language is unique. The heart, in the middle of nowhere, when it beats, dances the tribes. This land has spirit and souls. The land where people fear to enter, the sound of the drums allure. They say there are crocodiles on the way and zero millionaire. If you got your car dead, nothing can repair. If you disappear, nobody will care. Would you still dare? Rich with beauty green, but dangers it spares. Upright is sky blue until downdraft it stares. Like the Blair Witch moves the silent wind, and the forest echoes Bird Box by Bier. Once caught eyes, you finally reside. Twice the steps, your feet ground ties. No crawfish out, you are possessed. Tone deaf blindfolded, lost in the middle of nowhere. ... Marsal Soren is a writer based in Bokaro Steel City, a major city in Jharkhand, India. He started writing poetry to share his thoughts on various subjects, rangin...

 ... when i was younger, ( arguably more so than i am now ) i hopped, bank  to slippery bank to wade up to my knees in river water and steal crab apples from  the tree of my grandmother’s neighbor. and before that, i plucked ripe satsumas from the  green-stemmed tower in my aunt’s yard. everyday, i grow younger than i am now  and i often indulge in picking fruit: gooseberries pierce  and split the very tip of my tongue on the daily. this  is why i say i grow younger;  though my red lips are  puckered by sour fruit, my fingers do not cease  to pluck. i consider myself lucky, for not many grasp  the footing to plant themselves on wet riverbanks  or the gall to compromise the safety of their tender tongues in  search for sweet berries. ... Sia Moon is a young New Orleans-based writer and poet of Black and Buryat descent. Her work has been featured in the Riverbend Review, the Eunoia Review, and Chewers. Her poetry has won a S...

... In the silence of twilight, your laughter lingers a tender echo that fills the spaces between the stars. Though your touch is now a memory, it is a warm embrace I carry. Your love, a guiding light, leads me through the shadows of longing. In every sunset, I feel your presence, an enduring strength that lifts me. As I look up to the heavens, I find solace in knowing that you are at peace, watching over me, a beacon of resilience and boundless love. ... @wenohwhen | Instagram & Threads