Spring 2019 by The Ankh

SPRING 2019

Staff:

Aili Francis Akanksha Kalasabail Campbell Silver stein Chaltu Rashid Dara Swan Frankie Pereira Hasanti Kelly Jordan White Jiyoon Par k Kazumi Fish Olivia Najera Paul McLaren Rebekah Song Ricardo Vega Simone Rober ts-Payne Sam Rizon Tara Mitra

the-ankh.org @theankh_

Front Cover: Mya Valentin Back Cover: Aili Francis This edition was sustainably printed with support from:

Romina Beltran

th th

it h yo yo ca

stars, reveal your light Akanksha Kalasabail

things i must say next time i look into a mirror there are so many pretty words to describe you. to describe how the light hits the curve of your nipples, of your knuckles, the inward bend of your left knee, how the warmth of your eyes melts a little more when you tilt your dark hair ever so lightly more into

the sunlight

i like your fingernails it’s so comforting feel the pads of your finge tips running around the back of your left hand, around the strands of your hair. i dont know why it’s hard for you to look, trust yourself, trust your mama, she gave you everything for a reason and you’ve got it all in you. you know you like the blueish-green color of your veins--embroidery through your caramel skin (look how nicely tied together you are), learn to

admire yourself. to gaze without fear of yourself.

pay attention to the different textures of smoothness as your ankle meets your knee meets your thigh meets your hipbone meets your stomach meets your ribs. you are art, regardless of anyone who may be looking

trust yourself just step out of the shade, into the light. there you go

Left: Noa Lin

Thinning in Mesh

Janak Preston

a speculation of beads staggered at the altar. in the first olden edges of existence, neon clasping at the wicker. I fringed a holding and keeled orange. the draining and its overlaps minted silvers along gutterways globes of teal. something here is tingling, I slow to it flush to the ock pile, its gaps: wonderings. we are whirling again our triptych was simple, ask the conductor we scored the play of density careful like glass water we blocked the sound. something was happening with the crowd, experiments were happening in the crowd I heard disjuncture in the waterways I was under lapse and beyond phase I was cinder with a sandy tongue, unspooled

Aili Francis

cis

Untitled Poems Tara Mitra

My throat is choked still tears dont reveal themselves i forget to breathe as the mundane routine clutches in claustrophobic grasp that only eases in -----------no longer willing to perform. no longer willing to reveal myself

so far inward not even grass comes through woolen russian doll drowning in white looking left for air only just reachable my feet tired, afraid to break the pattern, afraid that rest means the end Only when i break i fl

Sullen faces, silence at the dining table the only time we set aside for just us eye rolls under bajra rotis are discovered by few trying to understand the other silent expressions revealing individual ghosts refusing to reconcile bringing in stories of the past rage at the precarity of both as they hold on to their feet fish hanging li e swords above headless feet 7

An Ode to Mangoes Jahnavi Mehta

Salim Green

Campbell Silverstein

In my chest there is no flesh (but a great monument is there) Ar temio Leclerc-Jones

I resurrect the seeds then the earth and fowls’ blood in planting fields (in hotland older than Mina’s oldest stories and even her stories’ stories) It is the liquid amber in the chest of the three-hearted guerrero it is recarved into my brown fles as generations fold into themselves This rite of sacrifice comes up y esophagus and into the bone of my skull until my face morphs into a stone veil i am a blue demon it is a dead treasure trove wading in that vestibule of lineage a real monument to what it’s all about and I become the champion a high flying luchador! bu yed on the surface of the 21st century

like a spoiled baby no mijo no

I cut it open to fin gold in these memories and all i find is ed ribbon torn off a shoebox emptied of what was left for me muffled y the cocoon máscara once resembling myself i scream give it to me! dámelo! but i cannot hear her whispers

I fin in my chest there is no fles but a great monument is there

Dara Swan

1:13am Booty Call Naomi Williams

under lavender fairy lights, you roll crushed bud into the brown leaf i bought yesterday (when i thought we’d hook up) but your girlfriend surprised you with balloons & kisses & updates on her new job in Brooklyn, so i waited until tonight, not to listen to you explain your open relationship (because i couldn’t care less, even if you were married with a respectable reputation). Nah, i waited until tonight to hear you apologize for making me wait. i imagine you treating me to your body. (you’ve already been forgiven) You put the blunt to your lips, light the piece & inhale flames momentarily holding them hostage in your lungs & release them in a mushroom cloud. The poison knocks you into warped vision, & you laugh a laugh that manages to squeeze my thighs & kiss the spot on my neck most sensitive to your touch. you hand me the blunt, i take a hit & watch your smile turn into silk beneath lavender. i take a hit & let it knock me into thinking i know how much you want me, knock me into thinking you mean no more to me than the free weed you provide. i take a hit & forget I’ll show up in that pink lace lingerie that makes your heart race no matter how many times you cancel our plans due to your girlfriend’s surprise appearances. i don’t want you to keep the healing qualities of your touch from me before i can find someone else willing to satisfy y lonely ass when loneliness curls up in bed with me at 1:13 in the morning.

Ellis Richmond

Woman in His Rearview Mirror

Sahara Sidi

i have been the good time in the backseat, for taxi drivers who ricochet their gaze off crooked mirrors destination: to the place a woman is most woman is most what shade of shame a man believes his woman should be a soft strong enough to hold this moment with shoulders acute angles to make him feel more man because i am in his backseat and he is steering right when navigation says left turn thoughts upside down in da vinci paranoia i lick the questions off my bottom lip i have been a good time i should know not to lick my lips like this he is tossing 21 questions over his shoulders 45 mph i juggle them in woman hands when he is speaking to me words like lectures words heavy like definition says you are very mature this is not my vocabulary just synonyms for staring at stacked thighs he cannot grip in one hand the control of direction so tighten pale knuckles around animal skin stripped from lambs until they are virgin pink humility brimming where little girl smiles hide I am under your nails and you grip me like a sacrifice to the men h vering over me in place we are parallel parked outside doors i do not recognize the gps a woman a soft strong woman telling him in words that are sandpaper tissues u-turn u-turn you turn 18 soon, right? u-turn and i become his good time i am the woman who licked her lips and tasted salt in her reflectio

Ariella Reyes

Maria Tan

Please Accept Me

A “College Essay” by Ricardo Vega My grades say that I’m an “above average student.” Not to brag, but I am graduating in the top 1% of my class. But my standardized test scores tell a different story. I feel like I’m signing my own rejection letter when I’m asked to submit my SAT score. Why would I want to tell a college that my math score is below the national average? Speaking of math, I am absolutely terrible at it. I barely remember the basics of Algebra I. Out of paranoia, I sometimes type in two times two to make sure it’s four. But it’s okay that I can’t find a derivati e or remember how to factor polynomials. My career aspirations only require me to be good at reading and writing. Even though I consider myself decent at writing, I still kind of suck at it. I’ll have the urge to grab a pen and paper and begin writing the novel I’ve always dreamed of writing But instead of writing an imaginative, heartfelt, and thought-provoking story, I end up staring at a blank page. I guess I only write anything creative if I’m being forced to be creative. That’s not to say that there aren’t any decent things about me that I can exploit. After all, my teachers seem to like me. They’ll call me “motivated,” “diligent,” and a “model student.” But the standards at my high school are so low that they’ll think you’re a Harvardbound prodigy If you just listen to instructions and turn in the homework assignments. My teachers’ praises are ultimately just white noise to me. It does not make me feel better about myself No matter how many summa cum laude medals hang around my neck I will still look myself in the mirror and frown at my reflection Knowing that I’m wearing fool’s gold. You may perceive my transparency as a strength, But I feel like I’m still being a fraud. Someone might look at this essay and think that I’m being raw and real But if I can’t even tell my parents that I like boys Why would anyone expect me to tell a group of strangers everything? Despite everything, I feel obligated to end on a positive note. No matter how self-deprecating I am presenting myself, I am actually proud of myself for being able to put myself out there. It’s okay if this “essay” does not convince any board of admissions, Because I don’t need an acceptance letter for me to accept myself. Besides, I know McDonald’s is still hiring. Maybe I can ask for my old job back.

Lessons on Manhood Saam Niami Jalinous

I don’t know The feeling of the family “Getting together” I am a child of the earth For my family can’t be found. I’m a child of ten thousand years Not the kind you think I am Not the kind Disney sells I don’t wear a fez I’m not looking for a lamp In the forgotten sand My blood is the forgotten sand My lamp is long buried. Anger is my natural state I was brought up With fla ed nostrils And blank stares That say, What the fuck Do you think You just said To me? Because It sounds like You think We are equals. Violence is Discourse Fear my drive I long for pool parties And Dad jokes that make You roll your eyes Because all the ones I have been told Make me cover my eyes And imagine I’m somewhere Far away. I don’t know How to get what I want Without tearing someone 20

Else down I didn’t learn that in my Daily lessons on manhood I learned that winning means Tearing down your enemies What if I don’t have enemies? In this world Everyone is your enemy. You better get ahead And find them firs On the phone Hearing the sounds of I’m sorry to ruin Your day with this Story I just had no one else To talk to. I’ll hang up if You have nothing helpful to say. On the phone With John from Santa Clara He’s telling me why I shouldn’t jump Does your father’s religion Contribute to his Anger? No, John from Santa Clara, You do. Don’t ask me Why I answer the calls. Maybe it’s because He’s been trying to make his way Back to the desert While everyone has been praising him For making his way out All those years ago. Maybe because he’s also Trying to go somewhere far away.

Morgan Maben

Katherine Puntiel