a note from the editors
It was with particular passion that we chose bodily autonomy as our theme for our Issue 12 contest. This year's attacks on reproductive choice by the United States government not only hurts, angers, and scares us immediately, but for the future of bodily autonomy, women's rights, LGBTQIA+ rights, racial and class protections, and the increasing dominance of Christofascism and leftist passivity. And that's just in our own home country, it's not even to mention the, unfortunately, so many other recent global attacks on personal autonomy, such as the Mahsa Amini-inspired protests in Iran. In a year that's been so violent across the globe, we wanted Issue 12 to champion resilience, highlight hope, and inspire action.
This is why we asked for your words written from the fetal position, words on your knuckles raised in the air, words that cross state and country lines. Writing felt in the gut, writing that bleeds. Fiction, poetry, hybrid, and nonfiction that you chose for yourself to share with us and the world.
In conjunction with publishing the brave and beautiful writing of our Issue 12 contributors, and being able to award the three winners monetarily from the submission funds, we have also used submission proceeds to donate to a pro-choice organization. Matching the total contest prize money, we donated $150 to Bedsider, an online birth control support network operated by the non-profit Power to Decide, centering around education and access to reproductive and sexual health resources. Please check them out to learn more about all the awesome work they do.
Thank you so much to everyone who submitted to The Body Issue. It’s through the contest submission fees that we were able to pay our featured writers and donate to such an important cause. And thank you to all of our readers who we would not be able to keep BTL going without.
first place
“The doctor tells you, “Just relax.” For a moment, you wonder if she’s joking. The skin on the back of your legs sticks to the thin paper lining on the table, every slight movement announced by a loud crinkle. The fluorescent lights scrutinize you from the white grid ceiling. You can hear a doctor on the other side of the door talking loudly about the weather, how hot it’s been this summer. There’s a medical student in the room, shadowing. You’re afraid you’ll do something crazy, like faint and pass out. What if your body scares them away from medical school forever? You should have shaved beforehand. Did you wash well enough last night? Did you use soap? You bend your knees inwards towards one another, feet still in the silver stirrups.”
second place
“Now my part is done, and I’ll cease from troubling their memories. I pass back down the nave, theoretically carrying within me his lifetime of sins, myself among them. But I’ve carried one of them for a long time, so even if I believed in the thing, it’d hardly add to the load.”
nonfiction
“We spend so much time dreaming about leaving these spaces we inhabit; these sterile rooms and weary bodies. We wonder what it will be like when our lives can finally begin.”
“I remember how my fear rose unbridled down the hill and over the bridge where the bullfrogs slept beneath, and past the muddy pond that swallowed paddles in daylight. It swelled up the other side to Josh’s house on the crest and crashed like a wave as he slammed the door and left us alone.”
“I like to look at the dirt on the soles of my feet and think about where I’ve walked. I like to lie in bed alone and concentrate on the smell of my own sweat. Last night there was a full moon and I swear that I bled more than usual, so much more, in fact, that I wondered if it was my womanhood waking with the sky.”
“We watched a woman tear off a rose petal and let it fall to the auditorium floor. ‘Every time you have sex, that piece of yourself can never be recovered. And if you continue to have sex,’ she attacked the rose. Petal pluck. Petal fall. Petal pluck. Petal fall. Torn petals. Floating petals. Blood red speckled floor. ‘You’ll end up like this.’”
poetry
“I hated myself for opening the door and learning to hunger for the places I used to run from.”
“As a girl, you tore bark from trees like a bear
already too late to know who hurt you…”
“I had trouble breathing and thought of the water…and the sea…and all of the grief i have stored there…”
“There’s a boy waving a picture
of an umbilical cord wound
like a noose. He must be fourteen.
He looks at me through my car window
and bellows something about motherhood…”
“The scars started as blisters, then sores that cratered deep
into her calves and shinbone, both legs trying to shed the fever,
and the medicine needed to save a life,
and once the fever left, the holes that could not be stitched…”
“Holy the stirrups
holy the raised knees
holy the cervix
holy the spread
holy that hole
according to need…”
“(tell me how they made her)
shark-mouthed, gap-toothed
free-wheeling, obstinate
little girl of too many
rolls and teeth…”
“For breakfast, Granny eats a pack
of cigs between sips of coffee.
By suppertime, she’s coughed them back up,
transformed them into the garden tools
she uses to dig a circle of holes around us…”
“After he broke my little finger, snapping the bone
to make me leg go of my phone, it swelled by half
& the ligament pulled tight, leaving the finger curved
inward like a claw…”
“Preface: Earth has become a wasteland. Humanity is fleeing, on lavish cruise ships, to struggling settlements on Mars. The Aniara is one such cruise ship. It carries 8,000 passengers…”
“she’s built
she’s stacked
she’s a brick
house…”
hybrid
“When a wave moved out of me, as massive and weightless as a sigh—the light faded into ordinary pain, uneven over the skin. It didn't sing now; I didn't notice the quiet at last. I was quiet myself,
set down with my last softness…”
fiction
“Your tongue is a thick, braided rope. You’ve been instructed that you must drink, eat, and pee in that order, so you take a sip of water from the paper cup, your first in six hours. The coldness rattles your teeth…”