The Emerald Isle Herself

The Emerald Isle Herselfby Romina Ramos I came for love but stayed for the island.Those were the greenest eyes I have everswam in but by fuck they were the coldest. The friendliest townsfolk, well sure afterthree rounds with a stout lady before lunchany man would seem like a pal to ya. I have sat underneath… Continue reading The Emerald Isle Herself

The One Where she watches it, and laughs

The One Where she watches it, and laughs It took so long I thought we wouldnever make it past season one.       When she said I’m not sure, it’s notthat funny, I decided then, on our first date that she would be the Chandlerto my Monica, which is to say that by season three, when she… Continue reading The One Where she watches it, and laughs


Troubleby Romina Ramos She was all mandalas and peacesigns, the kind of girl you would finddancing on the graves of society. She was recreational and free,the kind of song you dance to whenyou need release. She was euphoria. She was all pierced tongue and piercingeyes. Had the type of mind that goes onfor miles. She… Continue reading Trouble

Changing Seasons

Changing Seasonsby Romina Ramos In a city where every day is a miserableDecember evening, she is July. She does to mewhat summer does to strawberry fields. She is hot coffee on a crisp autumn morning,with each calculated sip first Ulysses then Morphosand Monarchs form a kaleidoscope inside me. She is spring because her laugh is… Continue reading Changing Seasons

My Father Was An Athlete

Writer’s Note: this poem was originally published in the August 2021 ‘Family’ issue of PopShot magazine. My Father Was An Athlete He ran out of the maternity ward so fast,that he got to the finish line beforeI even opened my eyes for the first time. And every man that came after himTreat us like it… Continue reading My Father Was An Athlete

Dear Ma

Dear Ma You once wrote of me that I am like a chair not a comfortable one but strong and supportive. Today I write to you to say that you are the table at which we dine at every night. Your thick oak limbs have held more difficult decisions than traditional cuisine and your back… Continue reading Dear Ma

The Flea Market

The Flea Market by: Romina Ramos Originally published in The Bolton Review Issue 9: Rats & Revelry This town is haunted by stained glass godsand crawling with slithering saints, but on the third Sunday of every monththe flea market comes. On this day it is permitted to skip Morning Mass,on this Sunday there is a… Continue reading The Flea Market