Tag: New York

A hyper-realistic photograph-like image: A bare forearm rises diagonally from the lower left toward a clenched fist near the upper center-right. The fist is crushing an enormous handful of intensely saturated electric-blue Slurpee. The blue ice bulges extravagantly between essentially every finger, with chunks breaking away and suspended droplets falling beneath the hand. The fingernails are painted glossy black with multicolored glitter, but the polish is chipped and irregular, exposing portions of the nails. Blue syrup and ice flecks stain the fingers. Melted blue liquid pours down the wrist and forearm in thick, irregular streams. The skin is very wet and shiny, with strong sunlight picking out pores, creases, hairs, and reflections. Behind the arm is a warm cream/off-white concrete wall, softly out of focus. It has stains, small dark marks, seams and weathering, but nothing that competes with the hand. A narrow gray-brown strip of ground appears along the bottom. The blue is astonishing. Created with ChatGPT for “slurpees.”

“Slurpees” * Poetry * Riley Fable

aromatica poetica August 12, 2026

slurpees coca cola slurpee brown, the green on an apple flavored candy, like the soda but with small pieces of ice, the slush stays in your mouth for a bit longer; cold against your lips, tangy taste coating your whole tongue; premier blue like the ocean on its brightest days, the harsh lights of an excitingly luminescent crystal, frozen liquid that you really shouldn’t drink again. I see the same emptiness by the hotel exit, I don’t know whether I’ll …

A big country house with a garden wafting scents of pink flowers and green grass in through its windows, and laundry detergent, cinnamon toast, perfume, and dirty socks out. By Alabaster Rhumb for Kate Chamberlain on Aromatica Poetica.

“The Smells of Home” * Memoir * Kate Chamberlin

aromatica poetica May 28, 2020

I remember a beautiful old Victorian home in Wellsville that yowled “Cats!” even as you stepped onto the wide front porch. Here in Walworth, one of my friend’s home smells of candles and paint; another like the farm; and another actually has no smell at all. As I walk through my home, I can smell which room I’m passing – especially on a hot, humid day. You’ve heard of being led by the nose? Well, the nose knows. In the …

“Consolidated Women Workers” Assembling a wing section, Fort Worth, Texas, October 1942. By Howard R. Hollem, Library of Congress.

“1945” * Fiction * DC Diamondopolous

aromatica poetica September 2, 2019

I first saw Teresa out my kitchen window back in 1928. Her father, a widower, had moved into our neighborhood. I was kneading dough when I looked up and watched the child glide her sled down a snowbank and slam into a tree. I ran across the street. “Are you hurt?” She scowled. “Mind your own beeswax.” I ignored her sass and asked if she would like a nice piece of hot homemade bread. She rubbed her bump with a …

Iphigenia and her brother Orestes stealing the effigy of Artemis from the Taurians, framed relief photograph from the Louvre’s Salle de Diane.

“Restoring the Effigy” * Fiction * M. Leona Godin

aromatica poetica August 15, 2019

“See you tonight Sweetheart,” Effie said to her daughter. “Anything special you want for dinner?” “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just graze. See you later mom,” returned Artemis, with the air of someone looking forward to solitude. She’d been entrenched in the couch since quitting Yale’s MFA in acting almost a month ago. Effie was worried–she was a mother and a Greek one at that–but every discussion she tried to have with her daughter ended in an argument followed by …

The Liars’ Asylum by Jacob M. Appel book cover tiled thrice.

‘The Liars’ Asylum: Stories’ by Jacob M. Appel – Review

aromatica poetica May 22, 2019

Some of the flora and fauna in Jacob M. Appel’s The Liars’ Asylum are real and others are made of painted silk and wire, but they are all as vibrant and memorable as the cast of characters whose lives they ornament. In this story collection published by Black Lawrence Press, Appel explores themes of love, disillusionment, and just getting along in the human condition, which is always difficult whether you are an orphan teen or a middle-age transporter of incapacitated …