The Savannahian Zine, Vol. 3

theSavannahianpresents

ZINE

with contributions from Local artists, wRITERS and human beings

editor's note

Another winter gone by and another spring is already showing its pale, little face- blinking sleepily in the sunlight, waking up with the rest of us. Spring in Savannah is... brutal and lovely. Fierce and delicate. Pollen coats cars and picnic tables, porches and restaurant patios. The pollen we see isn’t even the pollen that suffocates us, apparently. But we have pollen because we have blooming plants, trees, and grass. And Savannah does it beautifully.

New spring time Congress Street drinking game: take a shot every time someone says “It’s the humidity that gets you.” Sure, the humidity is brutal- but the heat can be electrifying. Rooftop drinks or a day trip to Tybee easily remind us that the heat isn’t so oppressive.

The killer heat isn’t there yet. March is still shaking off winter into the shade, teasing summer in the sunny islands between mossy trees. But we’re craving the heat. The heat is freedom. Our parades, our protests, our voices return with the heat. The world needs our voices. Big cities, small towns- we speak together.

This is one way that we speak. Through comics, novels, poems, photos. We speak, we protest, we connect through art. I am once again so grateful to present to you these works from local artists and writers who bring their own warmth and beauty to their craft.

So, welcome back and thank you for being here.

Rosie Kiely Editor

ForsythinMotion

A white-haired woman, her tongue stuck out in concentration, grips two walking sticks. Around her, a wide expanse of green. She stays on the paved paths, moving slowly, gingerly. A woman in a full-length tailored jacket and brown high-heeled boots clicks quickly by her, followed closely by a jogger sporting long blue hair. A man with a stubbled skull stumps past on the grass

Each step, a stab into soft ground his rage, ambulatory. People walk their dogs. Sleek lean ones strain at their leashes while a few play focused games of catch with their owners

A girl slips by, her hair fully covering her eyes her pooch looks far more confident than she does Passing strolling tourists, older men take “constitutionals", their circuits look less like a workout, more like a social ritual.

A car slides by, its primal beats rattling the windows. The whole block seems to shake. Later, at night, LED lights glow low in the dark as guys on hoverboards silently glide through the park.

PallasHupéCotter @pallashupecotter

Cartoonist: Zachery Turner

I wore a red dress the day we met. Big dim room, designer gray walls. Outside, the park where two men were stabbed, another car-jacked at gunpoint by twelve year olds

You arrived to the lecture late looking like a slide from Survey I –Artist Self Portrait, Painter’s Hands noisily closing the door. That was winter, when it rained for ten Thursdays and my drug dealer was killed After the call we smoked the rest of our weed, tried not to think about how it went down

twenty year-old body, small thud, broad daylight Spanish moss and red brick. I already knew I was leaving the city, the rattle of Kroger buggies

down narrow one-ways, the sound of someone being slapped on the street beneath my window I’d learned the difference between bullets and fireworks, knocking bricks together and my heartbeat, learned not to touch the moss; that tiny red bugs will cozy under

your skin, never want to leave

The night before I moved, I threw up in the Savannah River, yelled at a stranger, fell asleep in my dress waiting for you.

I only cried the next morning when the moon burned away red. I closed doors, exhaled winter’s smoke You knew I was leaving

My brother drove the U-Haul around a few squares, passed the park, thinking it would cheer me. We went south All around Georgia, the swamps were on fire

Signs read: low visibility, turn back, leave, don’t leave.

Claire Nelson Twitter/X @rllyfukingcute

Dawn Speaks

Eyes wide son it is time you meet the rising tide, with food and offerings

The dead get thirsty while Death awaits her daily dealings payments in currency kissing

Bath the flowing breeze with the inscence of passing time tobacco and cinnimon turn to ash

Blown open are the liminal spaces for you and those who shall be called in With names unheard for years in languages of twilight decayed

Shapes twist inside of sunlight whose wailing in all directions shows the path through the woods

Isis remains hushed

watching your stumbling until she gives a motherly laugh at the stars and their indirect ways

joking in omens and stone flippantly, until the knowing unknown are finally shown

Stephen Cordrey // wizardtooth

I know you, like Earth knows her Mother.

As only a soul can truly grasp, The After. Two halves make a whole, like no other. Like a bee knows the scent of its clover, intertwined like red wine & a bad hangover.

Just as the Sun & the stars know Saturn, And the sea never forgets her pattern

Our hearts know the sting when they’re shattered. Or how a mirror always shows a reflection, And a rule knows to look for the exception. We call each other by our names.

Lives criss-crossing on differing planes

Only a match knows to light the flame.

-Untitled

N.W. Poetry @nikkirwarner @purposeinprose

Bri Barber @thebricamera @bribarberrr

ThisHasHappenedintheFuture

I see you. You’re across the tracks on a different platform.Youwantmetowalkovertoyou,Igetit. Inyourbagarethetrialsofyourpast,we’llbothcarryit

Replaythisscenefromeveryangle.

Thewhistling,therumbling,theroaring

It’shappeninginthefuture,it’shappeninginthepast. Itwillhappeninthepresent.Thewordweassigned tothefeelingwasLonging ClosesynonymofPining

We leave the station and the air bobs and weaves on my face.Wedidnotnoticethewindscrapingourskin, howcouldwe.Therewasalotgoingon.

ItwasmymistakethatIamabouttomake, sobereadyforitinthepast BackthenIhadshutmyselfoutoftheworld andthenIletitshutmeoutsomemore, outsideinonthebreezewaybetweenlivingandsurviving

Yousomehowavoidedthat. It’sfunnythatinthisstation outside the boundary of all recognizable sequencetherearetrainsrunningandchugging andit’sallamatteroftiming.

Foramoment,Ismelledeverythingthateverlived

Thisshapethathastakenrootbetweenus, drainitofitslightandyouwillhaveyourfuel.

Takethisjacket Thewindwillhavetofighthardertochillyou

Takethesewordsandturnthemover liketheseasonslongrazedbyotherseasons

Whenyougothroughthepassage, letmeknowthecolorsoftheotherside Imightjoinyou

Liam Higgins @liamhigginswriting

Elaine waited for the crosswalk to turn green She started to feel nervous She could hardly believe she was on her way to meet up with Todd. There was a group waiting beside her who were confused and being loud about it We’re on Broughton Street!” a girl exclaimed, putting unnecessary emphasis on the otherwise silent ‘g’ “We need to be on Congress Street” “We’re almost there, trust me,” a guy with a broad chest and a tight patterned shirt replied He held his phone out and pointed to the small digital map. The girl didn’t seem convinced. Her voice swayed louder; she had a to-go cup in hand and some of her beer splashed on her friend’s leg who let out a cry in protest. “We are on the wrong street! I’s called Social Club on Congress, not the Club on Broughton!” “Okay, Tiffany, we literally just need to cross the street, that’s all So chill out” “I’m hungry and tired of walking,” Tiffany continued. She turned to Elaine. “Do you know how to get to Congress Street?” Elaine smiled, “Sure do” She pointed north, past the crosswalk they waited on, “Just the next street up After that turn left and keep going for a while Social Club will be on your left. Close to MLK, but if you get to MLK you’ve gone to far. Red numbers counted down to one and the hand disappeared, in its place a green figure in stride. The crowd moved forward An older couple dressed in a suit and evening gown lingered near her and once they were across the street the man asked her where The Pink House was They had reservations, the woman added. It’s our anniversary. Elaine began explaining and pointing, but the man shook his head The woman asked, “What is she saying?”

The man's face contorted when he scowled, and he pushed his thick, round glasses down.

“I don’t know, Christine, she’s talking too fast you’re talking too fast, young lady, slow down”

The woman, Christine, pulled out a map they give tourists on the trolley tour and unfolded it Elaine plunged her hand into her purse and retrieved a pen. She designated on the map where they were and circled where The Pink House was, nestled on the corner of a square a few blocks east. “Be sure to check out the cellar”

“Marvelous We will Thank you, dear.”

Elaine continued. She walked past closed department stores with wide windows showcasing expensive dressed up mannequins and restaurants that were bustling with people trying to get a late-night meal and restaurant workers trying to close their stations. She paused with the crowd and cars at red lights

She was beside a cozy coffee shop with large beige and brown splattered canvases and armchairs and sleek tables, a counter that went around the windows so patrons could sip beverages while looking out at people behind glass panels Inside, a wife shoved her husband’s shoulder to get his attention and motioned across the street next to the jewelry shop to a group of lewd bachelorettes They shook their heads and whispered; the wife readjusted her hat Next to them their kid sucked on frappuccino while his sister wailed from a stroller. At the next crossing, a man leaned out his car window and called out to her “Hey sweetheart! Where's a pretty girl like you headed?”

She ignored him and hurried past the McDonalds, the only one in the country with a walk-up window Teenagers ate ice cream cones on the side of the building

A group of business-casual men and women passed, taking up the sidewalk Elaine stepped on the road to bypass them, darting across the street before a horse drawn carriage at a stop sign She stood on the outskirts of City Market. There was a closed art gallery to her left, she paused to admire a painting that depicted the Savannah marshes From a packed balcony of a bar directly above the art gallery, hip hop music blasted and multi-colored lights flashed wildly. Before her, an outdoor area situated between businesses and bars A huge throb of people, two parked police cars Trees wrapped by benches and a pavilion boasting carriage tours. A live band was playing at the east end where people listened and danced or sat at iron tables eating dinner. She lit a cigarette She was getting close to the place where she'd finally meet up with Todd. The proximity, the looming reality of actually meeting with up with him because he invited her flipped a switch in her chest that started her nerves back up with fury. The nicotine helped to calm her Behind her she heard a voice ask for one of those Elaine turned and there was a woman in a t-shirt that had been worn for many days Elaine walked closer and handed the woman a cigarette, offered to light it.

“Thanks,” the woman said, her voice scratchy “You don’t happen to have a couple cents, do you?”

“Yeah, I think,” Elaine said quickly and felt along the bottom of her purse scattered with debris and managed to find a handful of coins that she dumped onto the woman’s outstretched hand

“Thanks”

“You're welcome. I hope you have a good night” She sought for more words, but instead walked away

She crossed City Market and continued on the sidewalk until she got to Bay Street, then she turned right. Down the street there was a large sign that said in neon red vertical letters, “The Place” Again, Elaine paused She retreated to hide around the corner of a building and finish the last bit of her cigarette. Her heart was fluttering She thought of butterflies in her fists, the way their wings tickle the inside of her palms, of sneaking up on lantana bushes She pressed her body against the bricks, scrapped the rough surface against her fingers Across the street was Club One Promotion posters for drag performances lined the wall. She spotted a group of smokers by the posters and recognized her friend Andy but didn’t call out to him She turned towards her phone. It was 9:45 PM She had two new likes on Instagram She put her phone back in her pocket.

The backdoor to a red Hyundai opened A woman got out, stepped to the curb, and walked on without looking up from her phone. Elaine tossed her cigarette butt to the ground She took a deep breath and held it in her lungs Calm down, she told herself, then let out a long sigh. It’s all going to be okay. Even if he doesn’t want to be with you, it’s all going to be okay

She looked across Bay Street. There was a clearing of buildings where she could glimpse a bit of the murky Savannah River like a crack in the wall. She lifted her eyes to the stars and the moon She took one last deep breath She reminded herself that she shouldn’t assume the worst and gave permission for herself to imagine the possibility of Todd’s happy reaction upon seeing her It’ll be okay either way.

Elaine turned the corner once more. The worry was away for now, the pale moon like a safety net She felt a comfort in the night, like the rules and expectations of the daytime had been extinguished She could be a surer version of herself, like those Elaine’s she posted online. She walked past wide windows of a building that was closed and caught glimpses of herself in stride, and thought, who is she? Taking those long, sure steps in that cute outfit? She took one last look at that girl before facing the entrance to the bar.

“On The Way To Meet Todd”

A Novel Excerpt by Lindsey Grovenstein