Learning to be a Daughter of Two

By Kelsey Stankard

My father’s eyes were green

But neither were mine

I spent my days

In his gaze

But him not in mine.

In his “house” Or Legs on the couch

Trying to divert the green From the screen

Where he stared at more green

Atop more green

Atop anything

Any color But green.

“The good guys were green”

He told me why But to me, The best guy was his green

I wrestled around in the pouch

On the couch As he shouted “Come on!”

And I considered hopping along

Like the kangaroo joey I had been For so long

But instead I stayed, Slouched

On the marsupial couch

Until one day I left.

If I decided to leave or He forced me to go, I don’t know.

Perhaps it was neither, Perhaps it was both.

Like a lame cliché

Or a fairy tale trope, I washed away the green With a flimsy bar of soap And scurried away.

His green did not follow me, If you can believe.

When I look back And reflect

Upon the peaceful attack, I’d like to say it was because the pouch

On the couch Shrank.

To my dismay, I’ll say That’s not true. I think I grew Or was replaced by the blue. But I loved the blue! And I wasn’t mad She consumed my pouch On the couch

Because the green wouldn’t look her way either until One day

To my pain

The green On the screen

Changed to a mesmerizing array Of green-blue-gray.

I heard from above and awaited the doom Of the girl with blue To grow too soon And be forced to leave the pouch

On the couch

But she only shrank, I’d like to say, But to my dismay, I’ll say that’s not true She’s not the one who shrank. It’s the pouch Who grew. And while I still love The blue

And the green, It’s not me on the screen.

My eyes are brown.

On Queerness

I have fallen in love with a pair of blue mittens, needle to yarn, with the way I learned love stitch by weathered stitch; love was the first secret I ever learned to keep.

I have fallen in love with grief, with a child’s world split in two. I have fallen in love with my mother’s arms around me on a cherry-red couch; at nine years old I learned that to fall in love with pain was to be something beautiful.

I have fallen in love over a dinner table, over news dropped like nothing while holding my breath, while staring into wide eyes, forks frozen over plates. I have fallen in love with my brother, his joyous finally! and demand we pass the potatoes.

I have fallen in love with a girl on a stage, hands shaking, the final act, professing that her love was holy. I have fallen in love with my scabbed knees on a coarse closet floor, with fingernails dug into carpet, with the way that I have always prayed to women.

I have fallen in love and held my own broken heart in my hands, holding tight to the shattered pieces like a promise, like proof. we were here, we loved, we hurt. this came from something beautiful.

FRAGILE RESILIENCY - Zoe Seibert

The vase-like sculpture piece allowed me to experiment with form through a heavier base contrasted with a more delicate, open center. The other piece has a base that lifts up from the ground and has a glass swirl around the center. For this piece, I experimented with the idea of weight by making a more solid piece. I really enjoyed creating these pieces and working with glass, but this process also helped me realize how working in the studio caters to male artists, even if this is in subtle ways. For instance, the tools are designed for larger hands, so I hope more female glass artists, like myself, bring attention to making art a more inclusive process.

Twenty Two

By Khira Hickbottom

it is my best friend’s birthday and i am 941 miles away from home and who i thought i'd be by now. online they are all buying rings and settling into suburban symmetry, building the nuclearity this life sub-planted in our collective dreams at five.

meanwhile i melt into my bed-frame and stare at a grease-stained syllabi. i am making a poor return on my father’s investment. his trip across the ocean i haven’t taken calculus or written the word economy with any degree of sincerity since senior year when i still sat in the safety net of my own delusion: medical school, marriage, maternity. you will save their lives, you will save yourself.

at twelve my mother moved from mobile to the midwest. a new cradle where there was still no time to cry or mourn impossible girlhood. birthed me with a tear duct sitting outside my right eye, nestled in the curve of my nose, an anatomical reminder of a patchwork heart sewed to a sleeve that i can’t shake. absolve. unstitch. blood is not currency and this debt can’t be paid by a body all blackened knees and poor posture, spine curved beneath the weight of paternity and passion and responsibility, on someone else’s twenty-second lap around the sun you will find a way you will save their lives, you will save yourself

Final Words

by Emma Allen

Newcomb Scholars is one of the main reasons I came to Tulane. I wanted to be in a program dedicated to training the next generation of feminists, to highlighting the work of undergraduate women, and giving prestige to feminist scholarship; I was right to idolize the program.

I remember how hard my heart pounded during my interview, and how my entire suite cheered with me when I got the email of my acceptance. I remember doubting whether I could keep up with the nineteen intelligent, ambitious, and incredibly impressive fellow scholars in my cohort. I remember being equally nervous and exhilarated during my first seminar. Terrified but eager to become a better writer. Better feminist. Better scholar.

My sophomore year I remember the stress of researching and writing my own case study. The task seemed impossible, and yet, now it is one of my greatest achievements. I look back at the work and the stress and then at the place it holds in the Women Leading Change Journal, and I do not feel anxiety or doubt, I feel pride.

That pride towards seeing my work published spurred me to look for more opportunities my junior year. Not just in the scholars program, but university wide. Not just academically, but creatively. I came up with a very short list. Through conversations with my fellow scholars, retreats and trips, dinners and late night talks, I knew first hand how brilliant, creative, and innovative Newcomb Scholars are. All they needed –all I needed–was a place for that strength to shine.

Developing NOSTRA: The Newcomb Scholars Literary Magazine, is another source of great pride. It is one of my greatest achievements, to see this magazine finally take shape. The thrill of reading submissions mirrored my thrill of meeting my cohort. Designing the magazine (with my amazing editors Liv and Mika) mirrored the pure excitement I had in crafting my case study. I see NOSTRA as a culmination of the skills I have

Emma Allen (‘23) - Co-Editor-in-Chief and Content Manager

Emma Allen is a senior from Batesville, Indiana majoring in Political Economy & English with a SLAM minor. In addition to developing the NOSTRA Literary Magazine, Emma is a resident advisor, an editor for the Tulane Review, a tour guide with Green Wave Ambassadors, and a research assistant with the New Orleans Maternal & Child Health Coalition.

Liv (‘24) - Co-Editor-in-Chief and Production Manager

Liv Tanaka-Kekai is a junior from St. Paul, Minnesota majoring in Linguistics with a minor in Music. Forever a former English major, she loves to write and currently acts as an editor for the College Contemporary alongside NOSTRA. She spends her free time working in the library, interning for Dr. Howard and the Asian Studies department, playing bass, hanging out with her cat (Chuck) and going on walks around Uptown New Orleans.

Mika (‘25) - Co-Editor-in-Chief and Creative Director

Mika Nijhawan is a sophomore from Boulder, Colorado; she is majoring in Economics with a minor in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology. During her collegiate career, Mika has dedicated her time to pursuing her interest in American politics by interning at her Governor’s Office in Colorado and her Congressman’s Office on Capitol Hill. She also worked as a Research Assistant with Dr. Mahoney in the Newcomb Institute researching women’s participation in American politics. You can find her on LinkedIn or in Audubon Park reading The New Yorker