2026 Frontier OPEN Finalists Part One: Emily Tong, Akhim Yuseff Cabey, Dré Pontbriand
In “Offshore, I Don’t Kiss Anybody,” Tong collapses the space between the swirling vapor world of the fish pond and her pondering. To kiss or to not kiss this fishboy. The subject circles the answer until finally coming to a paradoxical end. Tong creates a climax from the inaction of not leaning in. In “SOMETIMES WE SHOULD LEAVE THE SUN ALONE,” Cabey illustrates the rough, tussle-loving pull in a black boy friendship. Together they brace the literal and metaphorical tundra of society’s upturned nose; ultimately, choosing to ignore the dangers of both to embrace the chaotic beauty of their relationship and collective perseverance. In “MANTEL CANDY,” Pontbriand confronts the convoluted intermingling of longing, power, and intimacy foregrounded by the watchful eye of the Catholic church. Their language is simple and lyrical; however, the true art in their work, are the patterns revealed in these episodic moments.
Across these three poems, we journey through relationships. Ones with anticlimaxes, boyish wrestling, and secrecy. The craft of each poet illuminates how expectations, societal narratives, and religiosity complicate the most intimate components of our lives.
Offshore, I Don’t Kiss Anybody
by Emily Tong
out by the June sun. Or I am
misremembering, and an anthurium spades
in the space where his face should be.
A plastic red gun floats along
the coastline; it glows pink where the sun
scatters. Which is to say, everywhere: his pupil’s
hazel flecks, pinpricking auburn. June, alight.
The fish below are having a good
gay disco party. They are twiddling
their yellow fins and shaking seizureish
in wide, looping vapor trails—leaves us
mouthing for iridescent bubbles, fills our heads
with salt. Stick a lightbulb up our throats and we become
dollar store Himalayan lamps. The sand dissolves
once, twice, charring my toes salmon.
Another few times and it’s a glassbed. I
aquarium. See, swimming
wasn’t for me. The boy, too,
kicks and burbles; between his crescent feet lies
a good son in the shape of a pearl. I cannot
see his eyes and therefore do not know
if he is drowning. Somewhere back home
there is a kitchen full of fillet knives. Somewhere
here, I wane the boy’s grip. Light makes water
of our faces—I hold
his hand. Nothing more.
SOMETIMES WE SHOULD LEAVE THE SUN ALONE
by Akhim Cabey
cold distances with ostensible intent to bathe
both the face and body in storied warmth.
but today, brother, damn its conceited bravado—
give me instead godforsaken negatives
that transform droplets of blood into rubies
like that night we bareknuckle-brawled
in Oymyakon, Siberia because we’d had it up to here
with each other’s dark faces juxtaposed
against so much snow and cold. you know
the colorless world is always so close in tow—
chipping away at the bark of our skulls
like the mad woodpecker. let’s gather the dogs
as we had as boys and sled again shirtless
the vast tundra, hardening our nipples
against the teeth, tongue, and lips of a populus
come to suck on our hot sustenance
they’ve sworn on bibles was never ours
to begin with. and we believed every word of it
that night of split lip and red gemstones—
and how could we not when so many
flash ancient scrolls like badges they promise
profess we’re nothing more than chasms of water
frozen and forgotten beneath a sea’s
steel surface? parchment footnote informs
the reader, we are immutable truth—
and we believed it and fought and how
could we not? but it’s whatever. I plan tonight
to sleep the slumber of the brown bear
for the both of us—our souls the bear’s soul.
because once the weather breaks and I go
with seed to the damp earth, I’ll plant
the memory of tilting your head back to stop
the bleeding with the same frozen rag
I’d otherwise use to smother you to death
with all I know of how to love and to thaw.
MANTEL CANDY
my pirouettes were shaky. I’d stare at a shoe scuff on the slate vinyl
floor, the chip in the wood barre. I’ve spent a lifetime fixating on
everything but the mirror. I pick a heart-shaped freckle on his left
shoulder—if I can make him love me, maybe I’ll forget that I don’t
love me. I spin myself green, burst into shrapnel. It’s all man-made.
The priest slurred his sermon at my first communion. His eyes scaled
my sister’s training bra strap and I got on my knees and let him feed
me. My godmother gave me a nacre bible with a golden clasp and a
hollow copy of Gone with the Wind that I’d eventually stash gummies
and birth control in. I didn’t understand why she’d gifted me secrets
till I saw her car parked around the corner from abuelo’s, wedding
ring on the dash, begging my uncle to choose her. Watch me fall into
the arms of men who jar the fireflies in my eyes—throw myself into
the lips of the rifle, become the 10-point buck over his mantelpiece,
the glassed over glare: this is love right?—when he keeps the body.
Emily Tong is an Asian-American poet based in New Jersey. Her work is published or forthcoming in Augur Magazine, Palette Poetry, Fugue, Eunoia Review, Thimble, and BRAWL, among others.
A Pushcart Prize-winning Black author, AKHIM YUSEFF CABEY’s work has appeared in Colorado Review, RHINO, The Florida Review, Shenandoah, Indiana Review, The Sun Magazine, TriQuarterly, Callaloo, and elsewhere. He is originally from the Bronx, NY, and now lives in Columbus, Ohio. Get Funky, Get Swoll, his debut collection of poetry, was published at Black Lawrence Press in April 2026. He can be found on Instagram @the_fit_poet.
Dré is a queer Mexican-French Canadian poet and alchemist who loves wildlife, moon-bathing, and championing the return of the matriarchy. Her work has been published in SWWIM, PRISM international, Gnashing Teeth, Gather Lit Mag, and others. She is currently working on her debut poetry collection.
