HeyJaredSt. Sinjin
St. Sinjin is a bookstore that needs your help. By reading essays, poetry, and short stories, you declutter the space, and save the stories! For editing and writing inquiries, email Kate at pennamekatemsine8@gmail.com
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 13
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Aug 29, 2026
Latest issues
Standing Vigil (opens the original)
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Women weepfor another broken girlwho lost everything in one night to a man who wanted it all. The protectors in usmourn the skin that had no scars,standing vigil asshe heals, watching for the infectionof shame. *The Word Not World Series (WNW) is an interactive anthology where, once a week, I share a photo and peers give me words that inspired them. The requests are listed below:*“Weep,” from Rachel on IG. “Protector,” from my mama on IG. *Artworl by Clef de Saul. <
Good Hunt (opens the original)
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The stony fumes of fresh paint filled Marie’s sinuses. She examined the refurbished guestroom with heavy eyes. It now had a nightstand by the twin bed, a papasan in the corner, and a box of pre-loved paperbacks beside it. Once a reminder of her grandmother’s passing, the room was full of life again, and ready to host another generation of visitors. “Finished,” Marie sighed. The dark outside the bedside window made Marie check her watch, which admitted that it was 1AM. Marie yawned, feeling aches
Shards (opens the original)
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In the morning, I walk through the fields of suspended wings of the moths who died in the night, throwing their bodies at lightbulbs for love. Moths on fire,smoldered by morning,matchsticks of candles lit, to keep the night burning, extinguished by attempts to kiss the goddess in the glass before they evaporated from her Olympian-classic beauty. Read more
The Big C (opens the original)
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The tiger charges,a blaze burning as itrolls through the coils of the IV.Dad braces,his strong, tanned hands take the linenof the bedsheetsand crumple the stiff fabric into his palms.He utters a prayer.I lean over and touch him,as if that is how medicine works,a touch and then a transfer.“It burns,” he confesses through his teeth.A tear traces over the creases in his facebefore it drops from his chin,escaping the tiger tearing throughDad’s blood and body.I imagine Dad is out of retirementand bac
Snares (opens the original)
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I have been thinking about that spiderweb I broke through last night, Read more
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