Credit: Dominik Martin

Credit: Dominik Martin

The Hive: APIARY Digital Edition

By Hannah White

You’ve dwindled again to skin
and bone and sharp corners.
Darling, I hardly know you
anymore. But I know you too
well, the desperate measures and the
back-room deals you call living, the
contortions of your broken body
cringing, dodging
bullets locked and loaded in your head.

I know the power in hunger.
I know the pain that distorts into
sick pleasure as it bores another
hole into your hollow gut. I know
it won’t stop until you’re all skin and
bone again. And I know it too well,
I know the comfort of the human
skeleton. I see you in bed, narrow hands on
fragile ribcage, carressing the sharp corners of
your concavities.


Where It’s At: APIARY’s Very Big Year

Lillian here with your APIARY news (that's me, top left, grinning like a goof.)

Lillian here with your APIARY news (that’s me, top left, grinning like a goof.)

Dearest honeybees,

Lillian here, co-founder and co-editor of APIARY. You may have noticed that this summer feels a little … different. For the last 5 years, the arrival of summer has meant a rowdy dance party and the delivery of a new issue of APIARY. A reason to wear your new dancing shoes! A sheaf of Philly-grown poems to recite at the swimming hole!

This summer, though, we’re taking our very first print hiatus since we founded APIARY in 2009. Yes, I miss seeing all of your faces at the launch party, and holding a brand new issue in my hands. But I’m also incredibly excited, because we’re taking this pause to ensure APIARY can bring together Philly writers for many years to come.

We founded APIARY in an adrenaline rush of joy and little expectation, but now it looks like we’re going to be here for a while. As an all-volunteer staff, we need to step out of the print publishing cycle for one year to focus all our energy on planning for the long term.

Two big things are happening during our year’s break. First, we’re investing in revamping with the help of hometown heroes P’unk Ave. Our new site will serve as an archive of contemporary Philly literature, easy to search and easy to read on any device. We now publish over half of APIARY’s content online. It’s time that the website looks as excellent as the writing that we are publishing.

Second, we’re going to do fundraising for the very first time.  We’re hoping to raise the money for at least 2 issues in advance, and build a community of folks who love APIARY and want to invest in amplifying new literary voices in Philadelphia. Building a community of supporters allows us to do other business development at a more regular and sustainable pace.

We’ll still publish great new work online, hold readings (like the July 26th APIARY showcase at Love, US), and cover the literary scene. We’ll plot our glorious print return in Summer 2015. And we’ll also be throwing parties and working really hard to meet our goals.

So, as we begin the hard and beautiful work of building for the years to come, I want to thank you for your continued support and inspiration. You readers and writers of all ages are why we continue to undertake this harebrained scheme. You’re the reason we meet every other Sunday to talk over great readings we saw, go over to-do lists, and stare at laptops on beautiful sunny days. You’re the reason we love Philadelphia. You renew our faith in the power of literary creation to connect and heal us, every single issue, every launch party, every day. And we’re looking forward to many, many more days with you.




On July 26th APIARY and Love, Us will host Sounds in a Gallery. Poets Kirwyn SutherlandBrandon HolmquestSekai’afua Zankel, and Ryan Ekes will perform. Plus, we’ll being kicking off an open mic! Come for community, come for positivity, come for love. More info below!

Credit: Love, Us

Credit: Love, Us



Recently, a troop of Rutgers-Camden MFA students founded a literary journal with a sleek urban edge entitled Cooper Street. Spearheaded by Greg Sullivan, Cooper Street released its first issue online in May and is incredibly excited for what the future holds. Be sure to visit Cooper Street online after reading! Steve Burns interviews.

Cooper Street

Credit: Cooper Street

Burns: What motivated you to create Cooper Street?

Sullivan: I think a lot of us in the Rutgers-Camden MFA program had been toying with creating a student literary magazine that sought out work from across the country. Something that really worked to give something back to the literary world. MFA students had done something in the past that was more like a yearbook; it was a print journal where everyone turned something in and it would get published. That costs money and that’s not really producing anything substantial. It’s not something that challenges us. Creating a literary journal that we’d send our own work out to would be a good learning process for us and felt worthwhile.

Burns: Would you say that you took the project on to learn about the process of creating a publication as much as building a home for writers of a similar caliber? Are you looking for younger writers, people in a similar place?

Sullivan: That’s a good question. I think we not only thought in terms of the learning process, but also we thought somewhat broader than that. We were trying to find an identity, maybe something a little bit bigger than just a journal; something that ties into the MFA program at Rutgers-Camden and our community at large. We’re really interested in publishing work that gets its inspiration from cities. Part of that is because we’re located in an urban area, Camden, which neighbors Philadelphia. We thought about branding ourselves as a northeastern publication, but if someone from San Francisco is writing about a theme that relates to Camden, relates to Philadelphia, we’re very open to that. We’re trying to do something that makes sense for us and distinguishes us. I think there’s a place for the journal that tries to get the best work it possibly can, but if there’s hundreds of journals (actually, there’s thousands), I think you have to keep your identity in mind too. It’s a combination of the two.

Burns: What was what the first conversation about Cooper Street like? How did the issue come up?

Sullivan: We have student meetings and it really came out of that. I talked to some past students here who wanted to build something bigger than a yearbook, but it never happened. When we realized there was a waning interested, we thought we could get some funds and do something bigger. Our program is about to have a writers house on Cooper Street; that process has started. Our journal is Cooper Street. We’re trying to find ways to interact with each other, with the city.



Credit: Martin Stan?k

Credit: Martin Stan?k

The Hive: APIARY Digital Edition

By Moneta Goldsmith

There once was a young monk who had secret ambitions of becoming a writer. His central problem was that he felt ashamed to tell anyone about his dreams. Each time somebody would ask what he had been up to with his time, he held his tongue and after a few moments, pointed toward the sky. The monk did in fact write many things. But anytime someone would ask to see what he wrote, he would always point up to the sky.

This was a trick his master once taught him. When you are confused, his master said, just point to the sky and nod as if you were on the brink of something profound, like enlightenment or something.



The Hive: APIARY Digital Edition

By Ryan J. Torres

They say
Da Vinci
Slept one hour a night,

and dug into fresh cadavers
with his right hand,
while his left
scribbled notes,
into a journal
They could have used
as evidence
to hang him
If they ever found it.



Credit: Digital Camera World

Credit: Digital Camera World

The Hive: APIARY Digital Edition

By Kate Peterson

“I can not assign a grade to their eyes.” Tom Wayman

I walk with a backpack full of essays
a red pen, a fig bar, a bottle of water.
My students are probably sleeping
off some eighteen year old hangover
or playing frisbee in a park like this one
where the lake is turning grey at the edges
but the middle is still hard enough
for a lab to run on, to catch a red ball.
I stop breathing as his nails scratch the ice.
I don’t want to see something like that.
I don’t want to know how I would change
after having seen something like that.