Tint Journal writers’ locales:

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Issue Fall '26

"Potato" by Hana Nekrep

Short Story

POTATO POTATO

by Jay C. Alexander

Nancy knew we’d been growing in her pantry for weeks. It was the perfect home for us: damp, warm, and full of strange bacteria that helped us thrive ...read the full piece 
"Float II" by TJ Norris

Flash Fiction

Slack Water

by Mileva Anastasiadou

My friend texts before she gets on the plane and says, how exciting, because she’s flying to see the love of her life, and I’m happy for her, but also ...read the full piece 
"Runny Eye" by Anna Kohlweis

Flash Fiction

Everything Finds Its Tin

by Xheni Kapllani

How alike they are: biscuits and threads, needles and butter, loneliness and sugar, boxes and houses. Tights clumped together resemble feelings, ...read the full piece 
"I'm Flying Through the Daytime City in the Clouds" by Nasta Martyn

Flash Nonfiction

The Ballet Dancer

by Andie Z Chen

One of my aunties — her child had died of cerebrovascular disease. When her son was sick, blood kept coming out of his nose, and she would hold a ...read the full piece 
Skiing: my mother and I, 1963. © N. Lvovich

Essay

The Morozov Mansion

by Natasha Lvovich

Dyrka[1] We lived, all eight of us, together with the grandparents and my aunt Ilia’s family, in the apartment on Podsosensky Street in the former ...read the full piece 
"Fragmented Pulse" by Mukul Chandra Barman

Essay

Ginger Grandmother

by Anushka

I’d been murderous about my grandmother for years now. You’d think it was anger or perhaps even hate seeping into unassuming errant thoughts — an idle ...read the full piece 
"Stress Lines" by Em Harriett

Poetry

(new year as hunger, as hands, as a house with no doors)

by Thái Nguyễn Đăng Khoa

i. the elephant in the room at dinner, we eat in silence,on plates older than us, as father’s cigarette glowslike embers, its smoke pressing the ...read the full piece 
"Offering" by Anna Kirby

Poetry

generational healthy recipe

by Chelsey Keith Ignacio

the leftovers of my great-grandmother are safekept in a tin of cookies under the kitchen floor. we’re instructed to only open it when the moon turns ...read the full piece