Capulet Mag is over two years old! It’s hard to imagine life before Capulet Mag. For every new edition, we wonder: What new writer will move us? What new artist will catch our breath? Like children before Christmas, we desperately wish we could sneak a glimpse at what we will receive. Our faithful contributors have always given us better and better work, and we are delirious with the luck we’ve had. We’re not crying, you’re crying.

With a new decade ahead of us, we’re proud to cultivate a new canon of women’s literature. If Capulet Mag stands for anything, it’s…


Cover Art by Natalia Bennett

Fineliner and Gouache, A4

Natalia Bennett is a freelance artist and illustrator residing in Tasmania with big plans. She’s passionate about mental health awareness and swain to 70’s era of music.


Art by Natalia Bennett

Ink and marker on paper

Natalia Bennett is a freelance artist and illustrator residing in Tasmania with big plans. She’s passionate about mental health awareness and swain to 70’s era of music.


Art by Natalia Bennett

Ink on paper

Natalia Bennett is a freelancing artist & illustrator residing in Tasmania with big plans. Passionate about mental health awareness and swain to 70’s era of music.


Art by Mary McGing

Acrylic on bristol board

Mary McGing is an artist and student based in Massachusetts. She works mainly in gouache and acrylics, focusing on portraits and still lives. She is a recipient of the 2019 Elizabeth Killian Roberts Prize for drawing.


Art by Natalia Bennet

A4 gouache and watercolor

Natalia Bennett is a freelance artist and illustrator residing in Tasmania with big plans. She is passionate about mental health awareness and swain to 70’s era of music.


Fiction by Katlyn Minard

The first time I held your hand, we only did it to communicate with the dead.

There we sat: five of us, up past curfew in the attic of the church, long after the outside street lamps blinked on and the tiny yellow squares of suburban window lights began to dim. Scavenged dinner table candles that dripped red wax onto the dusty hardwood floor provided our only light. We sat criss-cross applesauce, circled around the Ouija board one of the Sisters confiscated from Ruth earlier that day. Or so she thought.

“Everyone hold hands,” Ruth said…


Poetry by Zarnab Tufail

i want to be loved again. i have felt it in the eyes of a faraway lover but i cannot recall what became of him. sorrow in words always found their way through thorny roads into my heart.

‘i will make wonders with my powdered heart.’

my baby nails are painted black; the color of darkness. they have just discovered the art of carving skin. i am afraid mother might see my art. i roll up my sleeve, take father’s sharp cutter

blood rushes

out

hugs me

muscles

run

away

from each other.

my head spins…


Poetry by Aura Martin

She looked at me up and down. You are wearing a dress. Good, this will be easier. Take off your bra and panties. I never removed them for anyone. I’m a virgin with golden hair in a renaissance painting where only a thin sheet of fabric separated me from happiness. Except this is a sterile office, and I’m quivering from anxiety.

The nurse practitioner wore a Gloria Blues shirt. Lie down on the chair. Spread your legs, and cover this across your body like a blanket. It felt like a dryer sheet between my fingers. I’ll…


Nonfiction by Aurora Biggers

I stepped under the green O’Reilly Auto Parts sign — a physical manifestation of my apprehension to enter the building. “Step in, take a right, go down the first aisle, should be on my right,” I repeated to myself. I peered in and waited until there weren’t any employees hovering near the door. Straight in and to the right, I followed my directions, allowing my brain to be preoccupied with my directional prayer. Hopefully, he wasn’t working today, or maybe I would get lucky and he’d be on a cigarette break.

With a jug of Peak 100% full strength coolant…

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