Philly Chapbook Review is pleased to present three original poems by Tanya Tuzeo as our sixth biweekly featured poet of the Summer 2026 issue.
Poems
i get Botox
not yet three days old and i am redeeming
a coupon at the plastic surgeon’s—
discount birthday surprise left in my inbox
just as me and baby are wrapped in biofilm
waxy under the hospital’s theater lights.
rubbing vernix into his forehead
where a stork bite makes him look
like the angry child i did not want,
this stem cell rich ointment
i have made for him
smooths the lanugo that seeds his body—
seagrass blown by a mother’s touch.
the esthetician arrives looking
more inanimate than the last time
yet their skin is an unbroken square of silk.
a mother to three boys—
i wonder what she looks like beneath,
what torment has been paralyzed
by the expert squeeze of a needle.
i frown as deeply as i can, pulling
at the places where disappointment is stored.
then comes the satisfying crunch of frozen muscle
as poison silences whatever parts
hems skin into untidy, mouthy lines.
i return home, silent about what i‘ve done—
more beautiful this way, the sudden
crispness of a sleepless woman—
effortless motherhood—
and stand over my sleeping baby
unsure if i am smiling.
my men, their guns
an AR-15 is under the bed,
its pressed aluminum curls up
beneath my sleeping child—
an unwanted beast
brought home by his father.
i didn’t say anything
as he unzipped it
from a bright green bag
and posed—
look babe!
at ten years old
my cousin was acquitted
for shooting sixteen rounds
into a building, seeking a body
fleeing his wrathful pride—
holes in bedroom walls, hallways,
and finally into the transgressor.
my cousin bowed his head,
cried at the verdict—still a sheriff
stalking the glades of Miami—
and now,
his son posts pictures
of his growing gun collection,
remarking on its killing power
in late night Facebook posts:
this one can take down a rhino, man!
he tags me in Youtube videos
where mass shootings
are animated by cartoon technology,
every gun owner: a hero—
like my brother
who was once a cop
until petting his standard issue glock:
i just wanna kill these fuckers!
he prowls the Catskill Mountains
for bears, the odd moose,
other brown bodies
to do i don’t know what with.
the baby shower
handwritten place cards
set in cork and twine,
again the bridesmaids
now wives themselves
showing off their colonials
with large nursery rooms;
a fireplace in a den
where extended family
mix their favorite cocktails
and plan overseas trips.
is that a real tattoo?
i cover the constellation on my neck,
it’s for my sons—
they tell me i’m brave,
they could never.
Tiffany sterling and cashmere blankets,
heirloom toys meant to be passed down—
the mother-to-be in pink
pleased with her fortune.
when i have a kid
my husband’s doing it all,
the wives laugh, know it’s true:
he’d never prod her back,
shoving their child away and say
this is what you wanted
you deal with it,
as he returns to bed
and sleeps.
About “i get Botox”
My poem ‘i get Botox’ was written in conversation with a toxic relationship I had with the father of my children, whose verbal and emotional abuse included repeated commentary on my body, particularly after giving birth. After childbirth, my body became a site of criticism rather than something to be celebrated for what it had endured and created. Writing this became a way to confront that experience and examine the lasting effects of being made to feel physically inadequate by someone who was supposed to love me.
Author Bio
Tanya Tuzeo is a librarian at the College at Old Westbury and a mother. Her work, featured in various literary publications, explores themes of intergenerational trauma and societal conflict. A finalist in the 2022 Atlanta Review International Poetry Contest and longlisted in Frontier Poetry’s Nature & Place prize, her poetry reflects resilience, love, and the complexities of family bonds in a deteriorating world.
Contents
“This language offers one possible framing through which to appreciate the law’s capacity to hope for, request, and even command commitment to a more just future.” Read two poems by Maggie Wang, our first biweekly poet of the Summer 2026 issue, along with a few words about “Possibilities for Action.”
Chapbook Poem: I’ll Never Look This Good Again by Douglas Piccinnini
“[The poem] came out of real pressure: despair, worry, and grief I wanted to hold unflinchingly, alongside the anxiety of becoming a parent… For me the poem became a meditation on all the feeling that surfaces precisely when we’re told to feel only joy.” Read an excerpt from Douglas Piccinnini’s chapbook, House of Bad Memories, along with a few words from the poet.
“She sees herself in carbon, the element that bonds with almost anything- not because it wants to, but because it has empty spaces and things keep showing up to fill them. Notifications. Noise. Needs that never stop arriving.” Read four poems by Joely Williams, our second biweekly poet of the Summer 2026 issue, along with a few words about “Single Mother Considers the Periodic Table.”
ADHD in a Non-ADHD World: on Undersight by Alison Hurwitz
“[Hurwitz] shares moments of angst and moments of awe. More than that, there are moments of deep recognition. She sees herself in [her sons] and, in fact, receives a later-life ADHD diagnosis of her own.” Read the full chapbook review by new contributor, Nancy Murphy.
“The woman’s head & hair are lavishly dressed. I probably leapt off the logic of the hairdresser being blind and therefore had to work on the head/body/mind rather than just hair as a surface issue of presentation.” Read two poems by Irene Cunningham, our third biweekly poet of the Summer 2026 issue, along with a few words about “The Blind Hairdresser.”
Flash Fiction: Nova by Kimmy Chang
“‘Nova’ is a lyrical second-person story about the narrator’s first true encounter with death…the story presents loss not as beautiful in itself, but as the place where beauty begins.” Read the first original fiction piece of the Summer 2026 issue, “Nova” by Kimmy Chang.
“To fit the nuanced, dimensional experience of dysphoria and transition into narrative…often feels flattening, falsely assured. I wanted to look at this discomfort I felt, to see what was necessary in it.” Read three poems by Joshua Zeitler, our fourth biweekly poet of the Summer 2026 issue, along with a few words about “Cobbling.”
Excerpt: “On the puzzle still inside my head” by Truong Tran
“I am trying to excavate memories. I am trying to negotiate the difficult realities of existing as a brown man in this country and within the consciousness of white America.” Read an excerpt from Truong Tran’s forthcoming book from City Lights, How to Exi(s)t: A Poet’s Memoir.
“These poems try to make sense of how I arrived at a life that probably seems well thought-out, but has been one reactionary choice after another.” Read three poems by A.R. Dugan, our fifth biweekly poet of the Summer 2026 issue, along with a few words about “Sleeptalking.”
Original Fiction: Muse by Somtoo Celestine Ezioha
“What I tried to trace was the underside. How watching someone closely for long enough becomes a substitute for approaching them.” Read the second original fiction piece of the Summer 2026 issue, “Muse” by Somtoo Celestine Ezioha.
“After childbirth, my body became a site of criticism rather than something to be celebrated for what it had endured and created. Writing this became a way to confront that experience…” Read three poems by Tanya Tuzeo, our sixth biweekly poet of the Summer 2026 issue, along with a few words about “i get Botox.”