from Pluto, with love
Contents & Credits
1. Cover art by Claudia 2. Photography by Jaimee 4. Departing from where I’d taken James (poem by Will & photography by Jaimee) 6. The Flood Arrived in Rapid Metric (poem by Morgan & illustration by Kay) 8. The View from Point B (poem & photography by Kay) 10. Sad Weed Poem (poem by Will & illustration by Rye) 12. Vacation (flash fiction by Joe) 15. DIY Corner 16. Fern by Kay
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From Pluto, with Love is a collaborative zine created to share & celebrate bitesized writing & art. Read us online: https://issuu.com/fromplutowithlove If you have questions, or comments, or if you’d like an extra special hard copy, email: theferngrovecamp@gmail.com.
Creative Prompt Write or illustrate what it would be like to live underwater (as literally or metaphorically as you’d like).
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Departing from Where I’d Taken James (Poem by Will)
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departing from where i’d taken james i thanked him again for pointing out all these lil frogs, once you look for them they’re everywhere, size of a quarter adding faded greens and soft browns to the bright blue lake. these tiny frogs, we’re all hanging out, so james good luck on your business trips to china and switzerland and then nightmare trip back to connecticut to “deal with your divorce.” what a temporal nightmare, to “deal with divorce” and for me to know someone “dealing with divorce.” we might as well be dead! we’re all 400 years old i think i will personally be alone forever, at least this one, still whirling in infinity etcetera, pure energy, but as i drove away from the lake there came an ambulance screaming down the limestone-framed country road and me with nowhere to turn, a squadron of bikers in the left lane so i sped 85 to find a place to pullover absurd when you think, try and crash myself to save whoever, anyway i get to and rip down onto a boat launch, it’s the dock onto Dream Lake, WHEE-OOH WHEE-OOH the ambulance passes and idk the patient is saved? or died at the hospital. some guy fishing is scared too as i slowly reverse up and straight down RT 80 back home, absorbing the colors, thinking of various ghosts.
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The Flood Arrived in Rapid Metric (Poem by Morgan) the flood arrived in rapid metric and landed the people in sinking lots where they clutched to branches and the sides of cars before they ran out of blood and breath though the law was there all along the law was there all along condemning itself to a weary infinity framed by the order of god who wrote the law inside the senate hall and so they were grateful at least that they lived there for a time they lived for a time by the lighthouse until the water inched up and ate it whole the land around it a blitz of sludge when a pallet of rotting earth collapsed with the bodies of ants into the sea and it was painless it was painless when they drove over the cliff together blinking twice til it was done and god was looking at them along woeful ancient hills because they were always his they were always his in life and breath and they had no other to look to as the law seeped into the sea at the turn of the century and so the graves washed away of the ones who kept the law
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the ones who kept the law were guiltless and annointed when the sweat trickled down between their teeth as they ate the pen and we watched them do it from our place where we sank in asphalt we sank in asphalt and released our breath when it was time for the water and we fell back in unknowing dark where god could not touch us and there was no room for weeping when the flood arrived in rapid metric
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The View From Point B (Poem by Kay) It’s hard not to fear the destination, hard not to dread the horizon, hard not to scream “That’s it?” at the screen But when I finally arrived, Point B was a summit kissing the sky, and I was a sore sack of flesh sitting on top of it surrounded by strangers It’s hard not to count your breaths when you’re running out of oxygen, hard not to count your steps when you’re keeping track of elevation, hard not to count your mistakes when you’re trying to escape from them There’s something inhuman about looking down at the world from this angle Everything below becomes an abyss, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s the only thing that was ever really beautiful about it.
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Up here, in the clouds, we eat our sandwiches, me and forty other tourists, amongst the wildflowers and tundra grass and a couple wild bulls— how did they even get up here? We can barely breathe. There is life, even here, in the sun and the snow, like it doesn’t ever fucking quit. But it’s hard not to quit when you’ve already seen views as rare as this and you’re sure this is really as good as it gets, and anyway wouldn’t this be a nice and easy place to decompose? No funeral, no clean up, just another nameless body sinking into the soil and washing away in the glacial melt It’s hard to ask for help when you’ve carried yourself this far, and god dammit if there was a light at the end of the tunnel, wouldn’t this be it?
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Sad Weed Poem (Poem by Will)
leaf flower oil or edible regardless sat still with cold sweat dripping along the collarbone. draw deep breath hold hold exhale. it is in fact ok to be okay sometimes. even if a dark chorus of acolytes interrupts your vulnerability wearing hoods and animal masks chanting in old tongues. they’ve got masks, you have infinity some local earth shakes at least my legs do, undone by something as simple as wind. unfortunately i pull out my smart phone and briefly stare at a photo of Nancy Pelosi which did not help anyway the realization, OMG, some might say the leaf lilting toward the sun knowing what it needs to grow and how to go after it. all by itself.
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Vacation (Flash Fiction by Joe)
Warm gusts of wind washed all around. It was the kind of day that I felt like the seven figure salary I earned. Maybe that’s why it proved to be so terrible – because it started out so promising. Lathered all over my body was the savory sprinkle of synthetic chemical, mixed with the refreshing extract of trees from the Amazon rainforest. And don’t worry, hippy-dippy nature lovers, I’m not doing any harm – those trees were already chopped down by the time I purchased the oil. Over my eyes sat a pair of avocado slices. Better than cucumbers, for the succulent avocado juices melt out and open pores better than a water boarding campaign in the heart of Guantanamo. Plus, they leave a zesty, sweet scent that lingers for days after. The tropical garden pattern on my new J Crew swim trunks put off just the right vibe. People will think, “Naturey, but not one of those ecofreaks with a pole stuck up their rear end.” Perfect. And it really was. What is more perfect than the brief escape from Wall Street? Yes – today was a delectable day of comforts to forget about real life for awhile. Like my DUI incident years ago, it came to a crashing halt because of a child. “’Scuse me.” The voice hanged over me, just nasally enough to be completely annoying and not at all amusing. “Can you get my ball?” Like many problems in life, I ignored him and hoped he would go away. “Um. Excuse me,” he repeated, at which point I plucked the avocado slices up. I wiped my eyes clean using the corner of my Egyptian cotton towel. At four feet tall, the kid had with round rubbery cheeks I would crush together just to hear him yelp, were my hands not filled with oil worth more than his mother’s paycheck. A couple of umbrellas dotted around the beach, and a pair of people kicked a soccer ball far away. A few others floated about in the ocean, a good distance away from where the kid’s blue and red striped ball floated along. I swept my hand across the beach. “Of everyone here, why are you asking me?” The boy pursed his lips. It made an ugly smack. “Well, you’re not really doing anything.” Did he not see I was soaking the sun, milking my body for every ounce of good feeling I could get my hands on? Evidently not, for he repeated, “Will you get it for me? Grammy gave it to me.” “Well,” I said, then gave a big ol’ smack of my own lips. “No.” Crestfallen, he trudged away.
I felt a little bad – but so what? If he ended up drowning, he wasn’t my responsibility. Besides, he could play with his ball, while I was on my final day off. And who knew when I’d get a chance to actually enjoy life again? I took another pair of avocado slices from the cooler and dropped them on my eyes. The sun, bathing me in warmth, proved to be very, very nice... until a nearby thud sprayed sand on my cheek. The grains stuck, adhered by the avocado goo as it dripped down my face. A moment later, heavy footfalls kicked sand onto my precious, oil-covered shoulders. “Sorry!” spoke the same nasally voice. I tossed aside the slices to wipe off my eyes. But the towel, freshly dusted, only exacerbated the problem as my eyes were served a cocktail of sand and liquefied avocado. They burned – but the expensive oil on my hand would not be wasted, not even for my eyes. “Hey!” I spat at him. “What’s your problem?” My eyes watered as I sat up. As loud as the crashing ocean, he started to giggle. “Sorry,” he said, then paused for breath as if he could hide the laughter. “I didn’t mean to-“ another pause, “-drop the ball near you.” “You think this is funny?” “Your eyes are shut with sand. And now there’s green goo coming from them.” Amazonian body oil costs to the wind, my appearance had no price tag. I furiously rubbed to earn another wave of laughter. When I finished, he was roaring in laughter. Could he not understand my displeasure? I scooped up a handful of sand. In the middle of his laughter, I flung it right at his stupid face. Enough got in his mouth to replace bring a fit of coughs. I stood there, arms folded, and let the smile creep across my face. It was the best I’d felt all day. When he finished coughing, he sat there wide eyed. “Now let me be.” As I reached for a new pair of avocado slices, his accursed laughter resumed. I froze. The boy was still laughing. I scooped up another handful of sand, but the monster had broken into a run. He had not made it five steps when I tossed the sand- and a gust of wind flung it back at me. With a growl, I charged. We ran past umbrellas, weaved between the soccer game, raced along the edge of the shore. His puny legs were nothing to the length of my own. I scooped a handful of wet sand by the shore, gave it a solid pack, and threw. Hard. Square between his shoulders, it exploded. He fell and skidded across the sand with a delightful face-first splurt into the soggy shore. “I’m sorry,” he scampered after me like a dog. “Please can I have my ball back? It was Grammy’s last gift-” “Why were you throwing sand at me?” I demanded of the whelp. He threw his hands wide, like a flailing bird. “I just wanted someone to play with. It’s dry and boring, here.” I scoffed. I bet he wouldn’t know what a good tan was if it slapped him across the face. “So you ruined my day at the beach?”
The boy shook his head. “That’s not what I meant to happen.” He looked down, cheek flush, then murmured, “I thought you were having fun, you were laughing and chasing me.” After a longer hesitation, he said, “We could- we could play sand tag, again.” A statement, spoken like a question. He had the gall to ask me to play with him? So what if I was laughing with him earlier? It wasn’t actually fun. It was a nuisance – it had to be a nuisance, surely I was not having fun. Because if this kid could give me more enjoyment than my fat paycheck and fancy vacation… then what was I doing all year slaving away at work? There must be something missing to my thoughts, but I could not think of what. My resolve to punish this child weakened… To sand tag, or not to sand tag? That all changed as I reached my towel. Sand had gotten into the cooler, not yet shut, and ruined my entire supply of avocado slices. By the time I could get more from the nearest Whole Foods, the sun would be down. On the final day of my vacation. Forget what I would enjoy. Did this child – I didn’t even know his name – deserve to have fun for ruining my plans? For throwing himself into my life, as if he knew what would be better for me? No. It couldn’t be. I flung my hand towards the cooler. “Look at what you’ve done. I won’t play your stupid game.” He frowned, eyes flicking from me to the ground by his feet. “I’m sorry.” Then, with a soft whimper, he said, “I didn’t mean to.” He sounded like how a mop would speak after being dragged across the floor. Fun. Without my avocados, all I had left was fun. But what was fun about returning to the office tomorrow with a half-baked tan? What was fun about a year of slaving away for a ruined vacation? There was one thing I could do to make this kid understand. And, perhaps, have some semblance of enjoyment along the way. I held out the ball to the boy. Slowly, his hand reached out- until I squeezed, hard, and the ball let out a satisfying pop. Limp plastic wilted in my hand as the boy cried out. “You like games,” I said, “Fetch.” I threw the flattened ball, discus-style, into the ocean. It landed with a satisfying plop. I smirked as the boy ran off, crying. My smile was short-lived, as I gazed back at my ruined set up. Grumbling, I scooped up the towel and tossed it over my shoulder. I slipped into my loafers – completely filled with sand – and dragged the cooler behind me. A miserable day, all thanks to one lousy kid.
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DIY CORNER
Survival, Sustainability, and Self-Sufficiency Use Your Veggie Scraps to Make Broth! Save your veggie scraps in a bag (or jar) in your freezer. When the bag gets full, dump the contents into a pot, add just enough water to barely cover the scraps, and simmer for at least an hour (the longer the better). Strain out the scraps. At this point, you can add another round of scraps if you have a lot saved up in your freezer, and you can simmer and strain again for a more concentrated broth. Use your homemade broth in soups, sauces, marinades, or instead of water to boil pasta or rice. Store refrigerated for a couple weeks or frozen for a couple months. Freezing it in an ice cube tray makes convenient little cubes of broth that you can use straight from the freezer when cooking. Good scraps to save: onion & garlic skins, carrot shavings, any unused pieces of tomato, herb stems, greens, potato & sweet potato skins, broccoli & cauliflower stems & leaves, and most other veggie scraps that you would otherwise discard. If you have veggies that are about to go bad and you don’t know how to use them, toss those in the scrap bag too.
Simple Face Cleanser Equal parts pure raw honey & castille soap A few drops of your favorite essential oil (tea tree, lavender, cedarwood, or grapefruit all work well) Mix it up in a reusable bottle, shake regularly, and wash your face with it! Experiment with the ratio of honey & castille soap. You may prefer to use slightly more of one than the other, but half and half is a good starting point. Feel free to share your knowledge related to survival, sustainability, and self-sufficiency: theferngrovecamp@gmail.com
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