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Issue 1: Spring 2022

  1. Serena Solin
  2. Toby Altman  
  3. S. Brook Corfman
  4. Katana Smith
  5. Natalee Cruz
  6. Emma Wilson
  7. Ashley Colley
  8. Colin Criss 
  9. Jack Chelgren
  10. Stefania Gomez 

Issue 2: Summer 2022
  1. Matthew Klane
  2. Ryan Nhu
  3. TR Brady
  4. Alana Solin
  5. K. Iver
  6. Emily Barton Altman
  7. William Youngblood
  8. Alex Wells Shapiro  
  9. Sasha Wiseman
  10. Yunkyo Moon-Kim

Issue 3: Fall 2022
  1. Sun Yung Shin
  2. Rosie Stockton
  3. Adele Elise Williams & Henry Goldkamp
  4. Noa Micaela Fields
  5. Miriam Moore-Keish
  6. Fred Schmalz
  7. Katy Hargett-Hsu
  8. Alicia Mountain
  9. Austin Miles
  10. Carlota Gamboa

  Birthday Presents
       for William Blake

    Five Words for William Blake
        on His 265th Birthday
            (after Jack Spicer)

Issue 4: Winter 2023

  2. Daniel Borzutzky
  3. Alicia Wright
  4. Asha Futterman
  5. Ellen Boyette
  6. S Cearley
  7. Sebastián Páramo
  8. Abbey Frederick
  9. Caylin Capra-Thomas
  10. maryhope|whitehead|lee & Ryan Greene

Issue 5: Spring 2023

  1. Jose-Luis Moctezuma 
  2. Peter Leight
  3. Rachel Galvin
  4. Sophia Terazawa
  5. Katherine Gibbel
  6. Lloyd Wallace
  7. Timothy Ashley Leo
  8. Jessica Laser
  9. Kira Tucker
  10. Michael Martin Shea

Issue 6: Summer 2023

An Introduction to Tyger Quarterly’s The Neo-Surrealist Interview Series

1. Mary Jo Bang 
2. Marty Cain 
3. Dorothy Chan 
4. Aditi Machado 
5. Alicia Mountain
6. Serena Solin
7. Marty Riker 
8. Francesca Kritikos
9. Luther Hughes
10. Toby Altman

Bonus: William Blake Tells All

Issue 7: Fall 2023 

1. Dennis James Sweeney 
2. M. Cynthia Cheung
3. Nathaniel Rosenthalis
4. Reuben Gelley Newman
5. James Kelly Quigley 
6. Christine Kwon
7. Maxwell Rabb
8. Maura Pellettieri 
9. Patty Nash 
10. Alyssa Moore

Issue 8: Winter 2024
1. Julian Talamantez Brolaski
2. Elizabeth Marie Young
3. Michael Gardner 
4. Steffan Triplett 
5. Margaret Yapp
6. Chelsea Tadeyeske
7. June Wilson 
8. Dawn Angelicca Barcelona
9. Evan Williams 
10. Brendan Sherry 

Email: tyger quarterly @ gmail dot com 

©2022 TQ



Maya & The English Elegy





“I will detach my affection, mother,”                 “and fix it to this tree.”
“I will be bold, I will double my feet, walk twice as far, and find you
not there but here where I left you holding the steering wheel, turning
off cruise-control and turning off the interstate, pulling over to assure me
you would drive to the asylum—were it left open—for me. For me a
booster seat, a warped guardrail, a lamppost, a sturdy utility pole to wrap
around. Much like this tree.”  “This dash is my forehead, the fireman called
the cops and the ambulance only has one stretcher.”  “If you don’t foot the
bill, my god, the city will.”  Maya looks for a nail, she’s found the hammer,
and in her right hand hangs a red onion bag netted and heavy with fat.

“Rot my mouth, my teeth, my jaw away—lay me down, spread my calf
muscle and find my fibula, ligate its vessels, and make of the bone my
next mandible so that I may repeat this blessing, spit on your curse and rot
again.”  “I didn’t know saving you would let him walk free, leaving
me forever swaying by the river.”  “I am wet with you and wet with me
seeping through every pore and lacrimal duct, every channel and outlet
worked back to my borderless core.”  “My life-stuff is your labor, your
labor is my life. I never wanted my syrinx though I loved the numbness
after the pain, but this weakness, this tingling, this loss of hot and cold
won’t do, not in my legs, not in my arms, and please—not in my palms.”

“I wash your body now, I’ll wash it again after I force breath down
your mouth after I stop and your nieces, your nephews lay their hands
on your breast, the damp cloth balled in each whisperer’s fist.” “In each
loss a prior birth, a prior warmth, a mouth that never knew hunger for
heart was fed from heart, body from body. Now I’m jawbone from gill-
arches, I am. Bite. Crush. Chew.

                                                             Iron would not know rust without a touch
of chlorophyll, sky would not be blue, a worm-like animal would not push
out its mouth, spined and toothed and clawed to pull back in a notochord
through viscera, the battered debris of another frond-like creature of the sea.”

“I try crying until”  I  “cannot see. Try the thumb-sucking exercise, try acting out the illness, try nicking the lobe in two places; try big, try small, try surface, try safety, try a stage, a diet, feedback, fever dreams, method acting—the emotional labor of a service worker rattling off treatments for interstitial lung disease though bed-bound herself, demented, unable to butter toast without a helping hand. I will

keep living, I’ll go to the funeral games. This is my alley; come up it, come up it.”

Biographical Statement

Timothy Ashley Leo is a poetry editor for Dialogist. His work may be found in Conjunctions, Lana Turner, Narrative Magazine, and elsewhere. He holds an MPhil in History from Oxford University and a medical degree from Harvard University. A member of the surgical house staff at the University of Chicago, he lives in Hyde Park.