Wordsworth Magazine Fall 2023 by Wordsworth Literary Magazine

w o r d s w o r t h Mercedes Contreras, editor Mia Lewis, editor Riley Gardner, editor Jody Bault Adams, advisor Victor Riley, advisor Staff... Berkeley McLean Brooklyn Chapin Caleb Thomas Callen Cote Elliot Christensen Elishiya Crain-Keddie Felix Duncan Finch Logan Holland Rudolph Jack Pendleton

Joshua Walden Leo Amundson Libby Minick Lij Thomas Lillian Lafontaine Lillie Sawyer Lulu Duncan Mac Bukoski Madelynn Geiger-Kilburn Mahalia Champney

Mars Libby-Applewhite Miley Cote Myst Morgan Nico King Noel Emmons Rael Contreras Ramona Sanchez Ruby Sanders Sophia Lane Soren Andersen Zeolite Kindblade

editor’s letter Dear Reader, As we settle into the fall and winter months of this year, we embark upon a new voyage into room 320, where we all gather ‘round to read the writing that your peers and perhaps yourself have created. From the action packed adventures and mysteries, to the shipwrecks of heartbreak and loss, we celebrate each and every artist who has both submitted and supported these pages bound together. Many thanks to Ms. Adams and Mr. Riley for the time and support that you put into the Lit Mag! And to the staff of Lit Mag, thank you so much for taking the time out of your Tuesdays and extra meeting times to be a part of such a wonderful community. We appreciate you all! We thank each and every one of you for your support of these words worth reading that have all culminated here. Sincerely, The Editors

Cover Image by Milo Smith Themed illustrations by Rael Contreras

It is with pleasure that we present our fall 2023 issue:

Songs of the Siren

t a b l e o f c o n t e n t s

Embark Finch Logan R. S. Gardner sophia l. Anonymous Ramona S. Felix Duncan Jenna M Enoki pip Ell Morrisey Noah Parott Venice Stemm Marin Lei Weiss-Racine Anonymous Ana Flores :) Cari G Anonymous Anonymous Mercedes Mae Anonymous Ava Schuman Anonymous Steeped Letters Vivian Collmer Kira Anonymous anonymous Nico Coiteux-King Porter Kroon CCC Anonymous Anonymous Zee Malcolm Jasmine E

6 am 1 A Boy, His Dog, And The Melancholic Hereafter 2 An excerpt from The Prettiest Butterfly 4 Awake 5 blue. 7 Bouquet Dentistry 8 Bubbles (Of Dragons) 10 chapped lips 11 Deep Blue 12 From the Mountains 13 Getting Out There 14 I am from 15 I am from 16 In my Rocket Ship 19 Joe’s Hat 21 Mornings 22 My dog 23 Phoebe 24 Red 25 Snowy Mornings... 26 sunset 27 Tea Over The Horizon 28 The Bubble Car 30 The color of joy 31 The Enchanted Grove 33 The Flame He Is 34 The Old Happiness 35 The Spider 36 Tumbling backwards 37 Untitled 38 Untitled 39 Untitled 40 unititled 41 Words 42

Voya g e Ruby Sanders Jacqueline R Douglas Brooklyn Chapin Olivia Madison Jones Steeped Letters Cierra Nortz lucy collmer Rory Wood. Everlyn Bag is Awesome Samuel M ultimate jokester Lillie Sawyer Ava Schuman Emmett Bachmann Logan R. Short tiqqun Val H. Lulu Duncan Mars Libby

Because You’re a Woman 45 Beyond our walls 47 Continue.. ? 49 Dahlia 51 Ella’s Goodbye 52 emo soup 54 Enchanted Bakes 55 First is the Worst 57 fly 58 Ghost. 59 I am from 60 I Am From Poem 61 I heard a funny joke today. 62 Interview From a Rescued Cabin Boy July 66 Long painful voyage 67 Lost... 68 Love you so much 70 On Cursors and Mice 73 Perfect 74 Plus 76

Cari G anonymous Sumi Dyment Morgan Edenfield Cole Fletcher Lillie Sawyer Mark Felt Anonymous

Rainbow Treasure 77 rainfall 78 Remember 86 serenity 88 Sunk 89 The Pirate’s Parrot 90 There is Something About the Rain What is time? 93

Shipwreck mahalia A Twist on Peter Pan 97 Berkeley Ad Corvus 102 Sophia Basement Hymns 104 Leo Amundson Burrowing the skin 105 tiqqun CRASH 106 Mars L. Darling, 107 Zee Entombed 108 Wilma G. Excerpt from “The Story the Sea Stole” Sophia L. excerpt from A Ghost Story 112 Madison Jones familiar with the light 113 dahlia a. flight 114 Brooklyn Chapin Foilage Shipwreck 115 Miley Cote Goodybye, I Love You 116 CCC Grandfather 118 IR I Know I’ll Miss This 119 sea snail Memory 120 mahalia Midnight Rose 121 HR Planet Zageroth 122 walden reject 125 Miley Cote Scared With Others 127 Hendrix McClintock Shipwreck 128 Libby Minick Siren Call 129 Yours Truly. Staring Problem 130 maia f terry 131 Mercedes Mae The Angel’s Seaside Daisy 134 Eleanor Nagle The Shadow Road 140 Felix Duncan The Ship was the Size of a god 141 Presley Brown The widow 147 Anonymous Unrequited Love 148 Anonymous UNTITLED 149 Cyan Provinsal Untitled 150 Kylee Heldt Untitled 151 Sebastian Kuckelmann Untitled 152 Val Hill Upon Venerable Waters 153 Sage B Vines 154 Layn When I FoundPeace 157

110

Visual Art R. S. Gardner Maia :) Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik Anonymous Caroline Gienapp Maia:) HOH Anonymous Chloe :D

A Boy, His Dog, and The Melancholic Hereafter Alex g reference 18 Antarctic Tide 32 Dream Catcher 48 Fragile 64 Lil’ Man, Big World 87 Nature and stuff…. 109 Orange Splash 124 Two dudes in the Forest 139 What the..... 156

E M B A R K 8

[6 am] The sandy river is flowing Crashing over the rocks A soft lullaby floating up Through the treeline Mingling with a chorus Of birds Of leaves Of twigs snapping under the hoof of a doe The scent of crisp-cool air fills my nose Morning dew lifting the smell of dirt and leaves into the wind I kneel down on the damp grass Faced towards the rising sun As it comes over the mountains Light tip-toeing over the meadow towards me I am the only one bearing witness To the chill of the air Icy fingers seeping through my clothes And to the forest waking up A long, tired yawn Before the day begins

F i n c h

L o g a n

[A Boy, His Dog, And The Melancholic Hereafter] R . S .

G a r d n e r

“Sunny day, isn’t it, Bruiser?” the little boy smiled, his fair colored hair swaying in the wind. Bruiser said nothing, but what was the boy expecting? The dog was just a fuzzy little toy. “What do you want to do today?” The little boy picked up the dog and touched his nose to the dog’s, then giggled. He collapsed into the field, still giggling like an amused toddler. The boy’s fair hair was mixed with moss and grass now. Green stains tattered the front of his light blue shirt. The dog’s fur was fluffy and straight, much like the boy’s hair. The boy ran across the park and back again, holding the dog by its arms. The boy smiled, his smile like no other, his smile was one that could melt snow. The boy slowed down, tired from his high energy half marathon he just completed. He panted as he walked towards the gate. Carrying the dog by his ear. Over time the boy got older and older, his fair hair turned to a dirty blond. Toys began to disappear, one by one, but one stayed and surveyed from the top most shelf of the closet. The boy’s happiness slowly twisted away into a sad angry concoction. The dog watched as his loud happy boy slowly turned into a quiet monotone robot. Spending days on his laptop instead of enjoying the sun. His skin was pale from decreased exposure. The dog was now ragged, his fur now flat and curled. His eyes were cracked and all of the stuffing in his neck had been forced to his stomach. His ears were stretched and his tail was like starch. The dog was now the last of its kind, and it seemed that dog would be dispersed too, but it never happened, and even some days, if the dog was lucky. He would see the boy take the plastic mask off and smile. And when this rarity happened the dog smiled internally, knowing that his fair haired little boy was still there.

[An excerpt from The Prettiest Butterfly]

s o p h i a

l .

That night Jane packed. She packed her clothes and nothing more, and then she left. The night air caressed her exposed neck and face but fought against her sweater. The walk from her house to Darienne’s was quiet and kept. On occasion, she would stop and look at the stars. They were bright and milky in the sky. Jane felt that if she stared long enough they would all fall into her hands and pockets. Their bright bodies would tumble over her skin and fall onto the concrete with a clink or a clack, and then they would fade and fizzle like a match lit too long. She would roll the dead stars over and over in her fingers, grinding their smoothness to sand, and watch the wind sweep them off down the street.

[Awake] I’m Awake, I’m cold Freezing. Sunlight Beams through my curtains Blinding me, Everything Hurts, like something drained the life right out of me. I feel empty Unable To move, and then I realize, its Monday. I can hear my family rushing out the Door Right now I don’t even want to Think About the long Cold march up the hill 5

While I listen to 2pac rap about how he sees no Changes Or even though it’s hard sometimes even Impossible You gotta keep your head up.

A n o n y m o u s

[blue.] As blue as the sky (that is its name.) As beautiful as the song the mean blue jays outside my window sang. As fragrant as the last bit of rocket pop. As sleepy as the night sky. As warm as my blue sweater. As fun and happy as the cold ocean. As sweet as the cotton candy at the fair. That is blue

R a m o n a

S .

[Bouquet Dentistry] You move so strangely to me. You bend your limbs and convey the peculiar thoughts held in your mind’s garden without words. What strangely shaped petals are behind the gates telling others out of the perimeter of the garden. I can almost see in because of the hole I’ve bore into your skull from staring at you so long. You’ve scathed my mind with an interest so intricately stacked I’m afraid to look away and let it fall. When we talk I’ll watch seeds out from your ears and pick them later when you leave. I press them into the holes in my scalp left from all the scabs I’ve picked and feel them take root. I’ve left a special pot for them to grow in the middle of my garden where I hope they will grow and become the centerpiece for all to admire. But they only seem to grow when I think of you. So for days and days this week my garden is watered to the constant memories of your movement. I hold my limbs so high and recreate your movements till I’m dancing around my room. Vines twirl around my hair as I do my room. I feel a buzz in my teeth as roots make their way down to the roof of my mouth and into my gums. Intertwined with the nerves that tell me my toothaches without you here. I’ve grown fond of the idea of you but don’t know how to possibly tell you with any sounds I can make. So I grow my nails out with a plan

I’ve painted my nails all different colors to see which on will grow the prettiest flowers. Chewing off slivers and slipping

them behind molars. I want to make a bouquet of my smile so I might draw your nose close to mine when you smell the flower scent. I’ll pull a few petals a bit looser than the rest so they might fall onto your tongue when your face is near. They can find a home stuck to the top of your mouth and every time you taste the petal you’ll hopefully think of me as I do you. For now I’ll wait patiently for the nails to grow in my gums as I acclimate to the feeling of them being there, in so deep. I’ll continue to move like you until they grow, bend and bloom with the motion of your eyes on me. I’ll use the rest of the colors to paint my lips to match the flowers that have finally grown to size. They serve as the centerpiece of all my thoughts, I can feel my gums becoming neighbors to new petals. Acquainting themselves around my tongue and past my lips. The flowers seeping between my teeth may be colorful as the ones grown from seeds fallen out of your ears. I can’t wait for you to see them all grown tomorrow. Although I think I prefer the pigment of your flowers just a ever so slightly more.

F e l i x

D u n c a n

[Bubbles (Of Dragons)] J e n n a

Do you ever wonder Where bubbles go When they fly up and out of sight Until you know They’ve popped And then they grow In numerous numbers Because you blow And they fly up and out of sight And in the stars Become a light And guide you to your home at night Because the air dragons Use them to sow The moon beams that Tend to glow Through clouds And storms And the dark forms Of dragons Flying through the air At twilight And snare Their prey With razor-sharp claws Because these bugs Fly up And EAT The bubble seeds That light up the cities Of dragons

E n o k i

[chapped lips] kiss my bleeding lips so that they might heal and have no reason to be ripped

p i p

[Deep Blue] E l l

M o r r i s e y

DEEP BLUE Deep blue is like the sea, it’s refreshing and cold. Deep blue is salty and sleek. Deep blue makes me happy and sad. Deep blue sounds like crashing waves, and wind whirling. Deep blue is silky and icy. Deep blue smells like crisp air. Deep blue is overwhelming yet calm Deep blue is everywhere Deep blue is dreamy Thats deep blue

[From the Mountains] N o a h

P a r r o t t

I’m from deep within the mountains, where the lupins start to bloom in a field of study. Thay run and Jump and play but when it’s time to learn… Well they do make a sound, but they are so very proud I’m from deep within the mountains, where you grow into a Willow and hide that your morals aren’t muddy. You say you’ll bite and kill you pretend with all your might, but when this comes to that, you won’t fight I’m from deep within the mountain, where you rise into a cedar and learn not to be so fussy. You walk and talk but when it comes to play You do the same thing every day I’m from deep within the mountains, where if you go you are so lucky. You learn and play You work so hard But when it’s time to go it will break your heart.

[Getting Out There] Getting out there is hard Getting the car, my car Alone. Driving for so long, feeling my life stretched thin But the determination of the destination The wonder, the freedom, the shiny new things or the familiarity of the pines Someday I hope the feeling of my life dancing across the highway doesn’t scare me So that I can reach the stars Find myself among the mountains I don’t want to come home feeling unfulfilled and I want my home to be out there. I told him once, in the bed I know all too well, that I felt unsatisfied and I didn’t know why I have so much time here. My hands and legs are my own. So what am I doing worrying and dreaming and grasping for a life at my fingertips?

V e n i c e

S t e m m

[I am from] M a r i n

L e i

W e i s s - R a c i n e

I Am From I am from crisp mountain tops with fresh blueberries we would collect. I am from sketch books with worn covers. I am from warm honey and hibiscus tea that smells like relaxation. I am from dried flowers in a glass vase. I am from cloudy windowsills and gentle rain. I am from heavy snow and cold faces. I am from a small red bike with rusted training wheels. I am from the warm sun on a crisp morning. I am from the rustic school playground where dust and barkchips fill your vision. I am from scuffed-up colorful Legos with chipped edges. I am from untouched books in the corner, still smelling of libraries and longing. I am from a gray, dirty photo frame sitting on my shelf, collecting dust that makes me sneeze. I am from dirty feathers, all ruffled up from sitting in my sister’s pocket for too long from our last walk. I am from an old paintbrush, with a tuff brisley tip, and small pieces of dried-up paint. I am from eraser dust scattered on my desk and floor of my room, too lazy to clean up with a vacuum. I am from tears that spew out like a waterfall. I am from hope forever being broken. I am from.

[I am from] I am from pride flags From pencils and pens I am from my families photos on the walls And from the sweet smell of incense burning I am from the cacti and colorful succulents spread across the house And from traveling around the world I’m from my moms cooking and dads humor And from my whole family’s creativity I’m from sleepovers with old friends And birthdays at bowling alleys From hours on calls with friends And staying up way too late I’m from going to the mall and from playing D&D And from drawing all day and night I am from love and care And knowing its okay to cry I’m from family visits to great grandmas And many years of road trips I’m from long bike rides and hikes And playing at the park I am from golden hills and sunny skies From playing wiffle ball games in my backyard, From going to baseball games with my dad And from eating cotton candy at those games

I am from every single experience I’ve had, the good and the bad From my friends, From my family From all the shows I’ve watched and loved

From the art i make, and the walls it’s hung on And I’m from living and feeling and experiencing life, and everything that comes with it I am from.

A n o n y m o u s

[Alex g reference]

M a i a : )

[In my Rocket Ship] Nine, I fit. not that it’s comfortable. but I fit. Eight, glad I’m not late. it’s fine. I ate. so many papers to sign. Seven, I close my eyes. My clothes are tight, I needed a bigger size. well, this room, is tight. Six, I’m thrilled. scared. my stomach is filled. i’m unprepared. Five, I can already imagine, my infinite sky above, Four, I say goodbye to all I love, Three, i didn’t notice how small this room was. I hear the warning timer buzz. Two, 19

I’m sweating now, i don’t see well, don’t know why I’m here or how. One, It’s almost time, before we make a straight line, I feel choking, my neck, my chin. Lift off.

A n a

F l o r e s

: )

[Joe’s Hat] C a r i

Pirate Joe sails the seas as treasure is what he seeks going deeper into thy ocean thy crew started a commotion until a small bottled potion makes a big explosion that was the end of pirate Joe but his sailor’s hat started to glow

[Mornings] A n o n y m o u s Waking up to no alarm clock seemed impossible My tongue sang the song of soggy cereal My hair sprung into spirals Dripping down to dampen my shirt The plan of leaving at 8 went out the door

[My dog] Dog’s hazel eyes Looking lovingly lying softly On the old couch White-fured snout Peppered with black spots Dusty, blue collar Almost hidden Loving dog Sleeping soundly

A n o n y m o u s

[Phoebe] M e r c e d e s

M a e

The goddess wandered space, floating through galaxy after galaxy collecting stars and comets in her arms. Stealing moons and black holes until she was satisfied. Laying down to sleep, wrapping herself around her treasures, fusing them together with the foliage of her body. Filling the spaces between with her tears until she melted into her collection, fusing them together into a planet of swirling blues and gold. The water glittering sapphire and pink, the clouds fluffy white. The goddess’s body grew into the land carpeted in soft moss and grass, ivy spilling from her head and tangling around her shoulders. Trees growing between her fingers, flowers twisted around her hips and legs, water lapping at her feet. Her children were born of her mouth, formed in her throat and molded on her tongue. Tall children made of plant and bone, flowers and blood. She favored all her children equally, showing her love through the fruit she grew to feed them, and the four legged beasts that crawled out her skull to aid and cloth them. The goddess had many children. Those who walked in her sun, bathed in her light, and those that ripped from her chest, scurrying in the dark. Jagged creatures of bone and flesh with flowers for eyes and bark for teeth. Her children hunted and killed each other, yet she favored all her children equally, and they all sang her praises. They burned candles in her heart, offered food to her mouth, sang and danced around her body till their throats bled and their feet rubbed raw. They loved their mother, and the goddess favored them back. She fed, clothed, and cared for her children until her body was nothing, her bones decomposing into herself till she was all but a myth. Her rotting heart thick with cold candle wax. Her songs never sung. And the goddesses gladly died, for she favored all her children equally, loving all her treasures the same.

[Red] Red is what drips from your paper cut after flipping through a magazine Red as the feeling of sun rays falling on your face Warm and inviting. Red as an apple fallen from the tree, Bruised from impact. Red as the leaves on the ground, The sound of them crunching under the weight of your feet. The candle on your bedside table, slowly melting. Strong of cinnamon and burned wood Red as the feeling of anger, Rage and fear. Red as brand new lipstick And a freshly done manicure. Long nails tapping on a granite countertop. Red is your friend who comes and goes. The collar of your childhood pet Red as your past, present and future.

A n o n y m o u s

[Snowy Mornings...] Lavender tea In The chilly winter’s Breeze, Warm apple pie With a taste so Defined, The ties to life Ever so sweet This time it will All be alright A v a

S c h u m a n

[sunset] A n o n y m o u s I watch the sunset From my perch atop this building. The world is loud beneath me, The sounds of life, deafening. But up here, Above it all, It is quiet. My only company is the sun, And even he is leaving. He waves his goodbye In purple, pink, and orange I gaze upon him, Feet dangling over the edge, And I know the view is beautiful, But that is not all I see. Because maybe I am wrong. Maybe the sun does not wave to me, Nor anyone. Maybe his grasp lingers on the horizon, Desperately attempting to stay in the sky. But he cannot change this. The passage of time is unmovable. The spin of the earth unshakable. So he surrenders, And dips below the horizon, Gone Dead For another night. 27

[ Te a O v e r T h e Horizon] allow the day to roll off the clouds sink into the sky swim with the robins as we watch the sun bloom over the horizon covering the fields around us with a quilt of hues from marmalade jam and sugared lemons with only a pane of frosty glass between the world and i frostbite threatening my fingertips as they trace the trees and the sun pouring through them each swirl at the pace of the melody playing in my mind once upon this day the evergreens were welcomed by the breeze with a push along to sing with the branches time going by nicely melodies upon happy memories being written between the lines matched with rolling wheels and the scenes of each morning passing by holding rolling little waves in my tea as if an apple fell off its branch and into the river and thus the window no longer chills me 28

and the clouds have left to let the sky cradle the sun just as we hold the hearth close to our heart so let us watch it all pass awake with the sky dreary with the stars keeping us steady and ready to find the sweet things the savory too where we can cry and smile waiting for the next day to join us S t e e p e d L e t t e r s

[The Bubble Car] The sun-soaked plastic is warm against my bare arms, and I sprawl my tiny body out on it, laughing. The air is laced with the scent of ripe plums, the half eaten ones lying discarded on the dewy grass, rotting slowly, only to be occasionally sniffed by the wandering dogs. My cousin sits behind me. Her cotton dress is soft against my skin as I stare up at the blue sky, watching the wispy cloud happily. My attention is drawn back to my grandpa, who, in his best effort, fails to catch our attention long enough for a photo. I hear my sister giggling below, and I peer over the edge, to see her hands wrapped around the fake steering wheel as she stares at my feet, which dangle by her head. Once again, my grandpa’s clear voice rings through, and we all glance back at the camera, just long enough for our innocent smiles to be captured forever.

V i v i a n

C o l l m e r

[The color of joy] K i r a Yellow looks like rays of sun in the springtime, birds flying around treetops. Yellow feels like a warm sun on your face while a cool breeze blows. Yellow can be fresh, intense, and still warm, like baby chicks, and soft smiles. Yellow is adventures with my family, a meadow, a place to explore, Yellow is a beacon of light, unfolding adventures. Yellow smells like the smoke that explodes from a vanilla-scented candle, the citrus smell of lemon and flowers sprouting from the ground. Yellow tastes like sweet and sour apples from the market, sweets baked in the kitchen with the gentle sun floating through the window. Yellow sounds like playing with friends, the energy washing over you. Yellow is light and lifting, the color of joy.

[Antarctic Tide] I s a b e l l a

B o n i f a c i o - S u d n i k

[The Enchanted Grove] A n o n y m o u s I don’t know exactly how long we walked but by the time we reached the dragon’s fortress, I assumed it was around midday. I wasn’t sure exactly how I planned to get past the dragon, I kind of thought it didn’t exist and was just a tale to scare children, yet right in front of me was a huge fortress that I could see smoke pouring out of. I slowly crept up to the outer walls and lightly touched my hand to one. Suddenly the dragon jumped out of nowhere. It was a brilliant red with bright yellow eyes and smoke trailed from its nostrils. Its roar shook the ground and it stomped towards me. I turned to run but quickly realized I would have to go home if I ran back, so I turned back to face it and took a slow step forward. It snarled at me but made no move to attack. It was too big to go around so I had to creep under it. I ducked my head low to avoid its sagging belly and continued forward. I was almost through when it started to collapse! I ran as fast as I could to any side I could get out and dived out from under the huge beast. It immediately stood back up and turned around to face me. Frightened I started to run but my feet weren’t touching the ground! The dragon had grabbed me in its monstrous jaw. I thought this was the end when It gently set me on its back. Up on its head, I saw Sam petting it gently. “Hey, Rose!” they called, “This is my new friend Dream. She says she can give us a ride the rest of the way to the human world.” I was too stunned to speak so I just nodded and we kept going through the fortress and into the forest.

[The Flame He Is] a n o n y m o u s The sun inside him rages like wildfire, and he is gold gold gold And he is scorching the skin of my heart Yet he still pretends he’s safe for me to love That his hands are gentle, that his fingerprints won’t be seared into the notches of my spine. The sun inside him could set the kingdom ablaze; he knows this, he does. And he still asks me to love him. To face the flame. Find me in the ashes.

[The Old Happiness] The old happiness Drifting through the trees It’s faded into the past Of summer days, scraped knees Back in the old days Where the sun never once set On a kingdom of forests And days I can’t forget When the world was vast And the moon, within reach And the stars shone so bright Speaking ancient foreign speech When life was just simple Games and sleep and fun Now time has gone fast Ever chased by the sun I feel so much older But somehow all the same And I’m just waiting for the day Old happiness comes again

N i c o

C o i t e u x - K i n g

[The Spider] P o r t e r

The Spider, Weaving a web, An artist itself just like all off us, But if it’s the same as us, Why is it something we fear?

K r o o n

[Tumbling backwards] The wind laps against the window panes like a wave breaching shore. An absent tap of rain against the glass, a prolonged wail wondering its way through the house. Its brittle fingertips prick at your collar and nape, pleading for you to fall backwards as it grapples at the cuff of your sleeves. But you stand, thinking, no, anticipating. Staring, staring at the front door as the sharp gusts claw at your back, tying you up in its cobweb. You ache to fall forward, push against the pale front door as the wind did moments before, but you’re stuck in a backwards tumble. Your heels rock, and there you go, falling backwards into the rain, into the wind. Setting off on the journey you knew would happen someday. Someday, today, the lyrics tangle up on your tongue as the water begins to soak into your eyelashes. And there you are, a stick in the ongoing sea, a traveler amongst the chaos. Following the wind, like another drop of rain caught amongst the storm.

C C C

[Untitled] A n o n y m o u s I am from rocks from abandoned mines. From bikes, and hats I am from the blue corner house surrounded by a lush garden The best chicken skin, I am from the home grown trees, Big juicy tomatoes, Red juicy strawberries. I’m from walking in the woods to cutting down a Christmas tree, and skiing and snowshoeing 5mi to a winter cabin. From my sister, and mom and dad, I’m from adventure, and eager to explore, From mt. biking. I’m from “Get in the Picture”, and “Comb your hair.” And Purple Rain. I’m from a once a year squished in a camper van with my family. I’m from Oregon and Sweden, Germany, and Poland, Tacos and chicken skin. The chicken skin is full of salt, and pepper, flavors and is crispy, and crunchy. From we where sailing on a low tide and my grandma got us stuck in the mud. From no more movement in the sandy mucking sand bar. I’m from bones, and rocks, On a mantle on top of a fire place.

[Untitled] A n o n y m o u s I am from the various colors in the sky, Of a sunset, I am from the fresh windy weather hitting the salty water, At the beach, I am from the roaring sounds of beaming fireworks, On the fourth of July, I am from the juicy, crisp fruit, On a boat day, I am from the long steaming relaxing showers, After a run, I am from the warm comforting fall smells, In October, I am from the chilly glittering snow, On the towering mountain, I am from the toasty hot chocolate, After skiing, I am from the plane, Coming home from vacation, I am from the long days of shopping, With my friends, I am from an orchestra, With my cello, I am from play time, With my two dogs, I am from the many sweaty hours a week, Practicing soccer

[Untitled] When your sun-kissed fingertips Brush my hand I smile Touched by art Your stained glass soul

Z e e

[untitled] The drumming on the roof from the rain made the house loud, and suddenly tink, tink, tink, the door swung open. “Hello,” asked Carter no one answered, “Kay” said Carter he shut the door and started to the stairs. He sighed as he went up the stairs, “Why is she always gone?” He mumbled. He came upstairs, walked to his room, set his stuff down, and got on his PC. And started a game, and while he waited he looked at his phone, the game loaded. He noticed his friend got online and invited him to the game, and Tim joined. He put on his headset, “Yo, you ready?” said Tim. “Is it time already?’’ Carter exclaimed. “Yahoo!” Said Tim “Alright time to get destroyed,’’ said Carter. (They played for like an hour). Something happened… The air smelt like a garbage can. “See you later,” said Carter, no one answered. He turned off his PC and went down to the fridge. BANG…BANG… “Hello” yelled Carter no answer. Yelled again no answer. He went to the front door looked through the peephole and saw a bunch of people huddling around the door. Carter wanted to get a closer look so he swiftly went up to his room opened his window and saw ZOMBIES he ran, grabbed his backpack with his katana, and got on the rooftop. As he was jumping off a zombie followed him out the window, and in mid-air, Carter pulled out his katana, cut off the zombie’s head clean off, and landed… TWO DAYS LATER. (loud breathing) “We almost died out there looking for her,” “I know,” said Carter, “but I knew she would survive’’.

M a l c o l m 41

[Words] J a s m i n e

Words are all around, Unavoidably omnipresent, Swirling their way through this world, casted around with little care of their effect, Little appreciation for their complexity. A hushed whisper on the wind, A sparkling fountain overflowing, Softly running water through a calm stream. Words sweet as the morning, quiet and gentle, like the first sleepy coo of a dove, Words sharp as daggers, jarring and unforgiving, like shards of glass stabbing into the velvet sky, Words tender and subtle, crumbling into dust, a dream once remembered, now forgotten. They are all around, Unavoidably omnipresent, They can mean nothing, but they can mean everything.

V O Y A G E 44

[Because You’re a Woman] Because you’re a woman, Alone or at home. For some reason, your body is sought to be owned. Voices overpower yours, no matter how loud you scream, You’re just a woman waiting to be redeemed. It’s “your body” or “your voice” that apparently lets people take away your choice. I don’t want to be a woman because I guess that’s all we are. I want to be the woman, The one who leaves a scar. Not with my weapons or my fists, but with my voice and my wits Because you’re a woman, Alone and unknown. We must work together so our body is not owned. To make our voice at equal with the ones who shut us down, With our voices and our words, we will soon rebound. It’s not easy being a woman We have to fight for our rights In the past, present and future this has been our life I want to be a woman because that is what we are I want to be the woman because together we’ll make it far We’ve been watching the clock tick 45

while our rights are being ripped Paper by paper, women by women. It’s as if our living, breathing bodies are not human. Don’t be the person who lets the clock go by While you live in a world filled with lies. Be the woman you want to be not what the world wants to see. Because you are a woman. To be powerful and free.

R u b y

S a n d e r s

[Beyond our walls] J a c q u e l i n e

A joyful chaos exists beyond these walls, beckoning, Calling you to the earth. The ground harbors the budding flowers while the wind sweeps above. Life flourishes beyond our concrete homes. The risk of change keeps you anchored away, tethered to routine. Alive, yet not living. Cars honk, sirens blare, streets bustle. The land buzzes, chirps, water rushes. The city pushes you under while the sky encompasses you. a majestic wind dances upon your fingertips, flowers smell, dewdrops settle and leaves change. Alive, while living.

[Dream Catcher] I s a b e l l a 48

B o n i f a c i o - S u d n i k

[Continue..?] The rain taps the window, you suddenly jolt up. The sky a dark purple, the stars shining from above. You hear a fireplace crackling, and a piano being played. You get out of bed, put on your formal clothes and walk out of the room, your boots making creaks on the wooden boards. You see a familiar person facing the fireplace, a glass in one hand, and the other behind their back. They’re still wearing their old scarf, but all the cuts and scratches on their outfit are gone. Their crimson boots, gray pants and shirt with an X across their torso. You grab a fire poker and arm yourself. “What are you doing here, Davy?” Davy swishes the glass of liquid around, “Tim, Tim, Tim… Very rude of you. Take a seat…” He turns around and offers you a seat, “I’m surprised you aren’t hiding your face with that metal mask you took everywhere.” You scoff, he puts two fingers on the thin scar running across his face. “You did this to me… So why not show your accomplishments?” You take a seat, fire poker still in hand. He sits down across from you, the piano still playing itself. “You know why I’m here Tim?” Your hand clenches around the fire poker, “To tell me to give up? To just let you win, you died. So stay dead…” Davy takes a swig of the liquid. “Grape juice, want some? Can’t do the expensive stuff.” Yeah I bet, without your power to will things into reality… “But no, that’s not why I’m here. I’m saying keep going, break the limits of this world, encore… See where it gets you…” You snap back, “What is that supposed to mean?” You go to get up, “Just watch out. I can no longer decide what you do…” Like you ever had a choice what I do, what we all do. “I heard what you said, to just let go. To let things take its natural course. So, I’m doing that now. I wish you luck Tim, and to those beside you.” You clench the fire poker more and finally take a violent swing at him. His black hair covering his 49

eyes slightly, but you know he’s staring at you. “Just shut up, what do you know about letting go! The whole reason I’m here, the reason we’re all here is because of your inability to let go!” Davy grips at his face, “There will be a day where there will be no light to guide you Tim.” Davy smiles at you, “I hope you never find that light.” You wake up in a cold sweat, still in bed, and in pajamas. But you see a glass of grape juice with a small note with an X across it on the nightstand. It reads, “See you soon Tim.”

D o u g l a s

[Dahlia] Cardboard box Soft little blanket In the back of a walk-in closet You were born Small, timid thing Sagging whiskers, shaking limbs Crying out in tiny mews I watched you that day With your eyes of bright blue Dahlia Dahlia is what we named you Dahlia is what we laughed and chanted Dahlia is what we cried out In an old broken-down car Mask shielding sobbing lips, whispered goodbyes Dahlia is what you were They wrote your name in perfect script on that cold, sterile sheet And then they took you from my tear-stained hands Dahlia, we buried you under the willow Dahlia, a flower gone too soon

B r o o k l y n

C h a p i n

[Ella’s goodbye] “Are you really just going to sit there, and play the victim? Typical.” Her intentions had turned vile ever since the night I lost her, it’s like she thinks I did it on purpose. She thought I wanted her gone, that I didn’t love, miss, and need her. I was put through hell trying to justify what happened as though it was my fault. I’ve always let my emotions paralyze me and take over. Look where I am now, this is just a mistake right? No one could possibly have done something so horrific or am I just naive? I tilt my head up and meet my eyes with hers, her eyes looked empty and cold but I couldn’t look away. I felt trapped but that’s what she wanted right? Guilt ran through my whole body as fake tears ran down her face. I knew what she was doing and it worked, her eyes had been locked with mine for what felt like eternity. Her tears hit the floor and broke the silence that had surrounded us… Chapter 1 (10 years earlier) “May 10, 2002” (Ding)

“It’s time to go, come on! We have to start heading back before the sun sets.” “We’ll be fine, nothing’s going to happen if we’re a little late…”. Fog washed over the ground and home started to disappear as I watched Ella climb the trees. The minutes flew by, well as the light. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and knew I was doing wrong but I couldn’t say no. My stomach sank as I heard a crack. Ella screamed and was gone before I could save her… I didn’t know what to do, I froze, was I next? And if I

were to try and find Ella would she already be gone- forever? It was dark and my eyes started to fill with tears, I was scared and guilty. I let Ella get hurt, I had one job. How could I be so irresponsible? I started to head somewhere that didn’t exist, somewhere I felt safe. It was like I was trying to hold onto her ghost, she was gone and I missed her more than I thought was possible. I was holding onto the idea that she was still here and alive. I was chasing a mere fragment of my imagination that was taunting me. The sun was going down and Ella still hadn’t come back… (Ding) (Ding) (Ding)… There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to just say goodbye one more time, I haven’t been the same ever since Ella was taken. My little sister, my friend, I miss you. Just let go, simple right? Sometimes it’s just better to let go… I’m tired of wishing that I would have gone after her, that I would have sacrificed myself. My heart started to beat fast and the air turned cold, everything started to spin and the ground slipped from beneath my feet. I fell to the floor in tears still not wanting to accept she was gone. It should’ve been me, not her. She was so young. She didn’t deserve it.

O l i v i a

[emo soup] A warm glass burns the palms of my hands I plead for a cool cup of water to go with as my wishes are being fulfilled I take notice of the sight before me discovering life amongst a parted sea their little voices can barely be heard they cry for help, hoping I will take notice gathering onto my metal spoon for support, for a moment I feel nothing but pity but as my stomach begins to rumble life no longer exists inside the glass bowl

M a d i s o n

J o n e s

[Enchanted Bakes] Monday afternoons are Marries’ favorite, especially during fall. When cardigans are brought to the front of the closet, and nutmeg mixed with cinnamon scented spices twirl through the air. It’s a weekly tradition for the wind to pass by her door expectantly, waiting to scoop up the delicious scents as a pick-me-up. Then she knows perfectly well that the kitchen is calling her name. And today hums that same tune. Tying on her pumpkin patterned apron in order to match her chocolate colored cardigan, Marrie begins her ritual. First, lighting her candles with a wish and a kiss. Next, cleaning the oven to make sure it was preheating properly and wouldn’t tire out so quickly this time. Then she began shuffling through her kitchen for ingredients. “Excuse me,” “Oh, pardon me. Just right around you,” Little mumbles could be heard from the kitchen. As well as the sharp creaks and bangs from the cabinets. Yet in no time, Marrie was perfectly able to round up all of her ingredients in little glass jars. From pumpkin puree, to flour, and milk. Marrie was well known across her neighborhood for her quick and lovely little bakes that she could whip up with the spin of her finger. Today was going to be no different. Reaching up and into her cupboard for her mixing bowl and sifter, Marrie made sure to remind her wooden spatula to be waiting on the counter for her. No matter how sleepy he is. After all, she couldn’t just use her wishes to mix together her ingredients! Finally placing her tools on the counter and thanking her spatula for listening, Marrie began sifting the dry ingredients together with an incantation, 55

Flour to be soft And sugar to be sweet Then rest assured that Cinnamon and nutmeg will join in with a heap Finishing off with a dash of salt and baking powder, she then added in the wet ingredients, And pumpkin guts to add the season Where cows graze hearty With the chickens laying as well And the last drop of vanilla sends a swell farewell Around and around Marrie turned her spatula that once in a while needed a tap against the bowl to work with her and not go limp. All to create a spicy mix of fall and joy. Excitement sparkled in her blue-gray eyes, framed by her thin gold wired glasses. Each stir around the bowl, Marrie knew would make her cookies better and better. So there she continued as her arms ached and the oven beeped, until everything was well incorporated. Finally forming the most perfect orange dough that waltzed with the swirls of steam emitting from the candles. Marrie then began to scoop up each and every last ball of dough she could from the bowl onto her baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Before giving the oven a sweet smile, and sliding in her cookies. “And now we wait,” Marrie whispered. Stepping back from her kitchen, Marrie plopped right onto her couch. Sinking right into the plush cotton seats as her little black and white poodle jumped right up onto the couch and sat beside her. Using one hand to pet her best friend and another to reach over to pick up her old grimoire from the coffee table Marrie let the sounds of the rain wash over her. S t e e p e d 56

L e t t e r s

[First is the Worst] C i e r r a

N o r t z

I always wanted to be first. First to do the chores, first to watch TV, first in line. I just always wanted to be first. But when it came to some things, I was last. Last to finish the assignment, last to finish the chores, last to get in line. I wanted always to be acknowledged for being first, but I learned... First it the worst! First to get in trouble, first to get the blame. First to have to help with their problem, first to be forgotten.

[fly] l u c y a butterfly flutters by buttering some bread a damsel fly lets out a cry a damsel in distress a solider fly sly and spry spies on suspicious slugs a fruit fly as sweet as pie gets chomped up by a bug a horse fly gallops in the sky around tall grass he skirts and all of this i watch in awe from my place in the dirt.

c o l l m e r

[Ghost.] Ghost. The wind circles me. That means, You are circling me. The breeze tickles my hand. That means, You are holding it. The floor creaks Under an invisible weight. That means, You are standing there. Then the window cracks open. … that means, You are gone. The End.

R o r y

W o o d .

[I am from] I am from Harry Potter, Vancouver Washington, and The Good Shepherd. I am from the little blue house with the little yellow door and the warmth of laying in the sun shining in through the window on my living room floor. I am from the beautiful blossoms of pink and white falling from the tree in my backyard. The way they would carpet the grass was so magical. I am from swimming pools and football. From Christmas to the 4th of July at my aunt’s house. I am from cascadia Montessori and Lupin classroom. I am from homemade chocolate chip cookies and “look both ways,” “night night” and “baa baa black sheep.” I am from salmon creek and st helens from scotch cakes, lapsha, blintzes and clamdip, the dry yet moistness of the scotch cakes is home for me. I am from getting lost on the bus to amethyst rings in jewelry boxes. All make up parts of me, Everlyn Alyce Baghdanov.

E v e r l y n B a g i s A w e s o m e

[I Am From Poem] I am from a cushy and cozy bed, from an oven and bright tv I am from a small yet spacious apartment with a relaxing and friendly smell. I am from the muddy grass, the thorny bushes that are growing and are sprouting. I’m from mulita monday and being silly from my mom and dad. I’m from sleeping in and helping out and from playing video games. I’m from when you’re older and maybe later and the regrets I’m from waiting for my parents to wake up for christmas I’m from oregon and guatemala From moulitsas and pupusas crunchy yet tender hard on the outside and soft on the inside. From fishing and bowling From inside my beating heart I will never forget where I am from.

S a m u e l

[I heard a funny joke today.] I heard a funny joke today. It was so funny that I am currently crying right now. Crying from laughter. I’m laughing so hard I think I’m going to die. I am actually going to choke on nothing. This joke I’m talking about… you want to hear it? I’m sure that you want to hear it. I’m so sure you want to hear it that I’m so confident that if I were trapped in a room that’s rapidly filling up with water with two doors, the first one saying “the reader wants to hear the joke”, and the second one saying “the reader doesn’t want to hear the joke”, and I could only choose one, and the wrong one contains even more water, and the right one leads to my freedom, I would choose the one that says “the reader wants to hear the joke”. This joke is so, so, SO good… ok. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you the joke. I’ll thoroughly explain this joke so well, dare I say it’ll be deeper than the dictionary. I will explain this joke so well that the amount of dopamine is incomprehensible. Like, you’ll be so happy that you might pass out. Man, get a juice box, am I right? Oh, and in the process, could you get me a Cola? Thanks. I’m kinda thirsty. Anyways, the joke is pretty crazy. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it but the joke is pretty funny. Like, REALLY funny. Are you ready? Now, you will ascend. Your ears, brain, and whole body will be blessed with these vibrations that propagate as acoustic waves. It will be such an experience. You won’t want it to stop. You’ll beg to keep hearing the joke. You’ll keep telling yourself the joke. You’ll develop an addiction to hearing/telling the joke. You’ll tell the few people that you trust. But this joke will slowly make its way to the government and they’ll use it as a war bribe. The joke will get its own religion. The world will run on this joke. The joke will have its own website. The joke will have museums dedicated to it. A local news station will run a 10-minute segment about the joke. There will be a national holiday for 62

the joke. This joke will be a part of the world’s wonders. Strange creatures from different planets far away will come to earth just to hear the joke. Elder gods from the whole cosmos will awake to hear the joke. Beings of other dimensions will lapse into existence just to hear the joke. The joke will achieve sentience. The universe will revolve around the joke on a molecular level. I will tell you the joke. It’s so good. I don’t know if I’ve gotten my point through yet. Not sure. This joke is just… too good. Too good to be true. Such a good joke. Thanks for reading!

u l t i m a t e j o k e s t e r

[Fragile]

A n o n y m o u s

[Interview From a Rescued Cabin Boy] L i l l i e

S a w y e r

We felt the rock before we noticed it. The whole ship lurched forwards as the wooden hull splintered apart. But I knew there shouldn’t have been any rocks out here. So I ran up from below deck to see that the ship was caught on a rock bar near the coast. Which wasn’t supposed to happen as the ship was anchored in the open sea before the celebrations began. But I didn’t really have the time to question this change of scenery as I heard Ned Clancy, who was a waiter for the party, yell at me “Thomas, move!, the firework bins are on fire”. But it was a tad too late for that as the explosion rocketed me into the sea with its force. The salty sea water really burned my eyes and lungs and above me, the fireworks had changed into flare signals. I tried swimming up but the debris from the sinking ship kept pushing me further down into the depths. Then I felt a hand grab me. It felt like a normal sailors hand, a bit slimy but it was a hundred percent human. Or I thought it was, because, I swear on my dad’s grave about this, when I looked back, I saw a massive fish tail swim away. So I scrambled onto the nearest pile of still floating wood from the now destroyed ship. When I started to notice other survivors come up from the sea I checked to see if they were helped by the same creature I was. None of them said anything, probably because of the shock. But I honestly swear on my whole being that my life was saved that night by a merman.

[July] Her heartfelt laughter And smiles of joy Soft auburn curls In a warm colored light, Nap time only a Blink away, Mother’s Hands Are here to whisk Her away

A v a

S c h u m a n

[Long painful voyage] I keep having to walk, packing in and packing out The wagon broke we all have to walk, packing in and packing out We are all going away, I want this to end All I want is for this pain to stop, packing in and packing out

E m m e t t

B a c h m a n n

[Lost...] L o g a n

R .

S h o r t

“What is this? An old house? A dark void? -Or a fluffy cloud? -Or a- … … Thought? No. Is this safety and warmth? No. No, It can’t be. It’s pure unfiltered emotional torment, Isn’t it? It can’t be pure unfiltered emotional torment and safety and warmth, Right? -Either wayI’m Lost… Are you lost? Are you here, are you present? Me and You, They and Them, He and Who, I can’t see you… Is this real? Is this really happening? This isn’t… This… This isn’t how I pictured it. Of course it feels right, But is it? Is it expected of me? Is it expected of you? Are we both lost? 68 Are we together in this infinite enigma?

Or am I just a kid to you? Your not just a kid to me, ButAm I not weird, not different, not but a camouflaged little boy to you? Or am I even real to you? Am I everything you wantAm I everything, Just everything to you? Are you and I experiencing the same odd boiling fear? Is it just a dream? Just a childish fantasy to maintain personal morale? Yet I hope that we are both lost… II hope we are both unwinding on the inside, Asking the same questions to ourselves. Not that I wish that pain upon you… But that we both hope to one day except ourselves, Maybe together. But you don’t know me and I don’t know you. Or maybe we know each other very well… No matter what I say, I’m still lost. Although I say all this, Can you really hear me? Can you really hear me? If I’m loud enough maybe you’ll find me? Maybe I’ll just embarrass myself. Probably I’ll just embarrass myself. Maybe you’ll embarrass yourself, I don’t know. I’m further than lost at this point. I’m just purely gone. But maybe you can find me, But maybe I can find you? Can you help me find you? Can you help me find me?” 69

[Love you so much] t i q q u n

1. I find myself forcing me to stare at you Eyes that once clung like rubber sticky-hands to the wall Are now only like a pair of parents checking up on their sick child you see their shadows eclipsing the doorframe, ‘til the crackling of the dryer softly taps their shoulders. Glued fingers,,,dirty nails blue wobbly rubber I would squeeze and rip my fingertips white until they couldn’t stick back together. It’s a stick-unstick universe. I pick myself apart and rearrange me in 10 delusions I unpiece and piece I’m someone who can’t shuffle cards, who pours them all out onto the table, a pile of naked unlit bodies groping down a midnight hall, until they congeal into myself. It’s a piece-unpiece universe I dissect memories, I experiment on thoughts. you are a cerebral frog— I want to lay on the floor and croak into a microphone I want my words to congeal like cards into a deck. Words are the name of god melting into a lingual mess a tetragrammaton grammar gra gra gr Piece, unpiece. Tonguespasm. If we were born skinless we’dn’t know it We’d just cry n’ yearn for something we couldn’t articulate.

God is a skin-skin he is good goods. You created me skinless kill me into your endpointz out-of-body, in body a brief afterimage of completion Bodies cling together— —voices drift apart eyes open close mouth SPEAKS shuts tongue moistens, nose sniff It’s a piece-unpiece universe. I feel skinless. Like sticky rubber hands, or leaves forgetting the twig the gurgling earth pulls everything back down to itself. forest floor the god-factory, mixing it all together 2. I find my hands are losing your heat. we’d paste our palms together, and imagine our lines aligned I thought the creases on our hands were scars from when we were sliced apart. I stopped under your tree today took my hood off, but still fat raindrops burrowed into my hair. I placed a wet leaf onto my hand, and discovered my skin was unfinished, ,the thin incisions sliced in its veins We must be orange leaves, waiting to be raked stuffed into a bin on the side of the house, made one with the rest 71

I licked the water off my palm. 3. My hands clutched you like the autumn burdocks to your faded gray jacket, like the fuzzballs I’d pick off of it. the street dark and dry, we crunched spores under our toes crumbling under our own weight, beyond the pale, beyond the event horizon of the body our ears were freezeburnt in the november chill every nose and leg was paralyzed but our hands glowed together I breathed the warmth from your fingers into my fingers. interlocked, we were two pieces of graffiti overlapping because there isn’t any space left. and when the treebetweens aligned to the moon, you said, look a white steeple poked out from the pines it had no cross, you said, this is my favorite view a crow landed on the spire and twitched its feathers if you were a bird you’d be a crow, we said this is the most lucid form of death where I am both the christ bleeding out on the grass and weeping ma ma holding his clammy body staring into his slickened dead eyes. this is the most lucid form of death this is the most lucid form of death the lines on our palms are stigmata. no no no no please please don’t cry you are good goods

[On Cursors and Mice] It disturbs me to try and touch my screen without the respite of a cursor to balance my annoyance. I may convert if God promised to bestow unto a mouse to alleviate my current condition. Even this flaw summons pity in the most stoic and unwavering sobs in the deeply virtuous. All shall watch me stumble, and fall, and run and fly in erratic directions towards the Sea. O, woe be my soul, who must survive in a wretched world without the solemn comfort of a mouse; the embrace of that frosty maiden leaves me rigid and snared, yet I still pine for the sunlight, the dawn of mine cursor and mine mouse. For even the blackest of days shall I run to with arms outstretched with the knowledge of my mouse and cursor to accompany me. All morns will outdo even nightly caverns, which appear so inexorably consumptive; night-pollens and night-pistils seed in all righteous morning halls and enrapture the land in blackness. Still, the dawn, with her sword and her blinding glow, puts to rest the night once more.

V a l

H .

[Perfect] Life wasn’t meant to be perfect Yet there I stand with lollipops and cupcakes Endlessly sweet Tutus and tiaras My fashion was unmatched All mix and matched Dancing and falling I got back up My lungs tired I kept singing Everything was right for me I couldn’t let others tell me otherwise The stars in my eyes Even sparkled in the dark You could see I’m young and I’m free And that’s how I thought it would always be Slowly I start to care The food I eat, the clothes I wear Life doesn’t feel so perfect for me I don’t have the guts for this I don’t have the energy for that I’m worn down by the world I sit watching from afar Waiting for someone to let me in Everything isn’t as easy as it once seemed The lollipops and cupcakes are still there But they’re eaten away by worry Before I can even get a taste The tutus and tiaras are shoved in a box 74

Only to be worn by the young No longer for us Why are we changing so much Why is my life being ripped from my hands I don’t feel like myself I don’t want to be myself And nobody understands All these thoughts Mood swings All on you It’s so much at once When it once never was All we endure All we live for Meets my eyes As each piece fits into place I begin to discover myself Find where I belong Even if that’s nowhere at all I see those who care for me more clearly And I become aware of what I’m living for The reasons I love life Why I’m worth my time I see it all now All I’ve gone through led me to today And I wouldn’t have it any other way Life wasn’t meant to be perfect But it was meant to be ours

L u l u

D u n c a n 75

[Plus] When do I become a term? When I can feel my stomach lining stretch and scream? When even water burns the throat but that thirst… that thirst feels fatal? Am I a term yet? Have I finally ducked low enough? Limbo no more. You’ve gained a pound, and lost a spark. Be one or the other, baby. Too big is what you must become, too far gone to finally make the team. Know me clinically, baby. Whether or not the outside shell warps around these aching bones, my eyes continue to blur and bloat and pick and scratch.

M a r s

L i b b y

[Rainbow Treasure] Spring is an odd season There’s sunshine and rain love and pain even in the darkest hour light peaks in to shower with all of that you can create the perfect batch The Rainbow! As the rainbow starts to fade away a trail of treasure comes in the way Just you wait for a pirate who will take No more treasure left to bake.

C a r i

[Rainfall] a n o n y m o u s

A brass bell rang gently behind Selena as the bakery door floated to a close. Dusting the soles of her shoes upon a mat and parting her hair to cover up the slender, jagged scar etched across the right of her neck, she glanced around at the golden hangings draped down from the ceiling, fluttering gently in the grasp of the brisk Manhattan wind that fluttered through the cracked windows. Around her were arranged a dozen circular tables, at which set all manner of off-duty workers, singles, couples- even the odd family gathering that had strung together two or three individual settings to create space. Twelve tables. What a curious number... how curious indeed, as Selena had not seen twelve identical, circular tables arranged in this manner for the last nine years...

Twelve circular tables, arranged around the borders of the gymnasium to allow for freedom of movement. Selena walked about them aimlessly, her youthful eyes darting from piece to piece as they finally fell upon a young girl, half a head taller than Selena, her silky black hair tied back in a neat bun as the pupils of her brown eyes glistened in the sunlight. Just like any other table, Selena ambled by without so much as an acknowledging glancebut she must have lingered just a bit longer than at all the others, for otherwise the girl would never have bothered to notice her. “Did you want one?” Selena whirled about herself. The girl was glancing up at her, the fabric of her jacket fluttering in the air as she clasped in her hand a plate of perfectly bronzed caramel brioche. “Oh- oh thank you, they look wonderful, but I can assure you there really is no need-” “Please- I insist.” Her hands, soft to the touch, gingerly set a pastry down at Selena’s right. “I’m Kaija, by the way. Kaija Dyar.”

“I’m Selena. Selena Johnstone.” A smile still borne upon her face, Kaija turned around and folded herself back into her chair, with a subtle, newfound skip in her step. Caramel brioche. Why did it have to be caramel brioche? Setting her faux-leather handbag down to the side of the counter, Selena peered through the glass into the pastry case- wherein lay rows upon rows of freshly risen chocolate croissants, lemon-blueberry tartlets, and- sure enough- no more than 8 perfectly formed examples of the offending pastry ripe for the picking. Chancing to peer up once more to make sure nobody had come to take her order, she knelt to the ground and examined, near the bottom of the case, a platter of six miniature raspberry galettes, not a single fold different than the one she had once slid into her mouth, as the torrential rain pounded at her gutters and she stared, without purpose or direction, into the depths of the blackening sky... A single, miniature, raspberry galette. Wrapped in a fuschia napkin, no doubt obtained at one of those early-spring Fred Meyer flash sales that so many suburban families frequented. The downpour continued to relentlessly descend from the sky- soaking the bluegrass, the daffodils, Kaija’s silken hair- but, clasped carefully in her gentle, motionless hands- not a drop of water had fallen upon its surface. “Kaija,” Selena pleaded, with a hint of incredulous amusement, “come inside, for heaven’s sake- you’re getting soaked!” “Lena, seriously, it’s fine,” Kaija laughed, as if the storm bearing down upon her was nothing more than the morning dew. “I’m just stopping by. Couldn’t leave for Virginia without giving this to you.” “You’re only going to be gone for a week!” Selena exclaimed, her head leaning far enough out her front door that she could feel soft, plump raindrops cascading down the tips of her curtain bangs. “You didn’t need to come here- you’re going to spend five hours on a plane, all soaked, and all for a galette that I don’t even deserve...” 79

“Of course you do,” Kaija replied, as her hands darted out through the shrinking space between them and set the galette in Selena’s hands, rapidly enough that the rain could not mar it. “There’s nobody I’d rather make this for than you, Lena. Happy February!” And with that, Kaija dashed back through the cascade and slipped back into her mother’s waiting car, leaving Selena standing at the door- petrified, in shock, and staring at the empty fields of rain as if she had seen a ghost. Still peering into the galettes as if they were mirrors, Selena swore she could hear the pitter-patter of giant raindrops collide with the gutters above her as lunch hour came to a close and customer after customer filed out the door, the repetitive motion playing a sonata on the brass bell hung above it. No sooner had she turned around and found herself gently coursing her fingers through her strawberry-blonde hair, newly bobbed just below the chin, then a series of footsteps rang out behind her. “Hey,” called the cashier, a man in his early twenties with a dirty-blonde combover and a pair of denim overalls, “is anyone available to take an order? Poor girl’s been waiting half an eternity to be served over here.” A single, pastel soprano voice rang out over all the others. “Thanks Timothy, but I’ve got it.” Selena didn’t have to think a second to know who that voice belonged to. The oppressive sun bore down upon them, a far cry from the torrential rain and roaring winds that had permeated most of their relationship up to that point. Selena and Kaija walked down the promenade at mid-afternoon, watching the pavement transition into wooden, slatted boardwalk beneath their feet, as the waves lapped against the coast a hundred meters to their right and filled the soundscape with the pleasant hum of white noise. White noise, that was... and the soothing, gentle rattle of Kaija going off on a tangent, her voice the sort of music that Selena 80

could listen to for hours. “I totally get it, Lena,” she said, grinning. “The only people who have ever liked me were a handful of boys... a couple of them were decent people, and made great friends- eventually, but they were by no means good enough that they’d make it worth dating a guy. Anyway, it’s not like I’m all that concerned with a relationship or anything... I just wanted you to know that you’re not alone.” In that moment, Kaija had every urge to tell her how wrong she was, how in that very instant, a girl had fallen head over heels for her- a girl who was standing right next to each other as they spoke, their shoulders slowly drifting together as Selena listened to Kaija’s laugh pierce through the atmosphere and send migratory geese fleeing and water droplets trembling upon dewy leaves. And yet, through all they had weathered, through every moment that Selena’s heart had plunged deeper and deeper into the abyss over the past seven months... Kaija remained silent. She said not a word of what she thought. “You’ll find someone eventually, Kai. Someone will comesomeone who hangs your moon and your sun, who makes your face light up like it’s never lit up before. And that... and that girl, or that guy, or that person... will be brave enough to tell Kaija Dyal, the most perfect angel ever to grace the face of this earth, that she loves her. And that’s... and that’s when you’ll know.” The two girls’ eyes remained locked unto each other for a few brief, tantalizing moments, as a gentle tear trickled down from Kaya’s eyes and dissipated over her lips- before their gaze broke and Selena hung her head to the ground. And so Kaija and Selena ran on back to the market, kicking up stray grains of sand as they sped, as Selena’s heart split in two and crumbled out from beneath her. “Hello, this is Three Birds Bakery, my name is Kaija, how may I help y– SELENA?” Selena waved at Kaija, her face flushing a shade of deepest crimson, as she watched a few hairs flutter up and dance 81

ever-so-gently above Kaya’s deep, mahogany eyes, as beautiful as ever. “...Surprise!” “Oh my gosh,” gasped Kaija wildly, her smile radiant as the midmorning sun. “You’re here? Here here? How long will you be staying?” “As far as I can tell?” Selena laughed, combing her fingers through her cropped mane once more, “Indefinitely.” “You’re kidding.” “You think I’d kid about that?” Selena smiled, handing Kaija a twenty. “Oh, and I’d like one of those galettes. Just one. Keep the change... it can be your tip.” “Oh come on, Selena Johnstone,” Kaija retorted. “You can’t just say that you’re moving to New York and then shift the conversation to pastries as if nothing happened. Aren’t you studying in LA?” “Graduated,” Selena chuckled. “In three years. And what do you know... after rejecting me and sparing us three years of watching off-Broadway revues and diving deeper and deeper into debt together, I apparently proved myself enough as an undergrad at UCLA for Juilliard to let me in as a postgraduate student. Anyway, enough about me. How has New York been the last few years? Did... did... did Mariela ever come back?” Her arms folded neatly to her side, Selena sipped on a freshly brewed taro boba tea, watching the sun slowly swim its way over the horizon and come to a rest above her drowsily hung head. Behind her, the rusting old wrought-iron door swung open and two figures meandered into the room, laughing all the while. “LENA!” Kaija practically cried, as, catching sight of Salena as she sat alone by the sill of the window, she came dashing over and caught her in a soothing, tight embrace. “You’re here!” “As ever,” Selena laughed. She snuck a quick glance over at the other girl, who Kaija had abandoned in line as her eyes scanned the chalkboard menu above them. “You brought a friend?” “Oh, no, no,” Kaija chuckled. “This is Mariela. My girlfriend, and quite possibly the most perfect angel ever to grace 82

the face of this earth.” Mariela turned in line and, as if she could supernaturally detect whensoever her name was mentioned, gave a little cheerful wave. “You were right. Someone told me. That someone... that someone who hangs my moon and my stars, who makes me light up like I’ve never lit up before. She came.” Selena didn’t say a word. Her eyes remained fixated upon Mariela, standing twenty meters to her left, smiling as she ran her index finger through the frayed tips of her medium-blonde locks. Just as she always did. Kaija continued to stare at the frozen Selena, as her expression shifted from one of elation to one of concern. “You okay, honey?” “Yeah,” replied Selena, without so much as moving a muscle. “She’s cute.” “No,” Kaija sighed, a discernible twinge of regret in her voice. “She stayed in Eugene... and within a few months found a new girl, a psych major who wanted to settle down in a homespun cottage just off the southern I-5 and a far better girl than I could ever be. And at first, I was glad that she left. Being alone, free to roam in this new city, to try anything and everything I could lay my hands upon... it was exciting. But after three- three long years-” A tear trickled down from her eye and dissipated over her lips. They stood on the grassy knoll in the city highlands, watching as Subaru after Subaru skidded down the cobblestone sidestreets, careening their way into the sunset. Gazing down at the withering wildflowers dotted beneath their feet, Selena’s hand fluttered over, closer and closer to Kaija’s... and then away again. Closer, then away. Closer... then away, in a strange loop repeated over and over again through time, as their voices remained silent, with no sign of stopping. “You’re leaving tonight?” It was less a question and more of a statement- Selena knew for a fact that this girl, Kaija Dyal, was to depart in an hour’s 83

time.

“New York is beautiful.” She was more or less saying things to break the silence, to disrupt the awkward sensation that permeated the air... without much of a point in her statements. “I’m so sorry you have to be alone. I wish... Mariela...” Kaija sighed. “Lena, it’s okay. I always knew it was coming. It was fun while it lasted, but there was always going to be a point where our paths parted, where me and Mariela reached a fork in the road... and had no choice but to take opposite sides. It’s just going to be lonely- out there in the world, at last, with no determined future in sight. It’s the very thing I always dreamed about, and yet...” Kaija stared, vacantly, into Selena’s hazel eyes for a few fleeting seconds... And then she collapsed into tears, waterfalls streaming down from her eyes and into the shoulder of Selena’s cardigan, under the fuschia sky and beneath the bower of the sun. Behind them, Kaija’s mother’s car pulled up once more. This time, there was no rain to mask the sound of the wheels pulling onto the curb. The life of her dreams was just steps away. Kaija pulled up from within Selena’s arms and wiped her tears on the sleeve of her pullover. “Have fun in the City of Angels.” “I’ll try,” Selena smiled, and waved as Kaija started off down the knoll. “I wish I could come with you. I wish I could.” “I know,” Kaija laughed. “So do I. But we’ll meet again... in another place, on another day. Promise?” Kaija slipped into the passenger’s seat of the sedan, shutting the door so that Selena’s words were only audible by herself. “P-promise.” “I saw your show last night,” Selena soothed, wiping Kaija’s stray tear with her sleeve once more. “Whispers from the Grave, Off-Broadway. It was brilliant.” “Don’t say that,” Kaija cautioned. “Keep talking like that and you’re gonna give me wildly false conceptions over what 84

I’m going to be able to achieve in this business. You’re not going back to LA? I thought you wanted to be-” “Suffice to say,” Selena replied, as a series of memories passed through her mind (which reminded her to, once more, take extra care to cover up the long, jagged scar etched upon her upper neck)- “I’m not going back. And I promise you, you’re absolutely incredible. No jest. Broadway just hasn’t had the gall to discover you yet, that’s all...” A tear of her own trickled down her cheek, swiftly culled by a swipe of Kaija’s gentle hand. “Well, if you really ARE staying,” Kaija smiled, “at least now if we both crash and burn... we can crash and burn together.” Selena froze in her place. And then the floodgates burst and she erupted into a cavalcade of tears, her head collapsing into Selena’s arms as they wrapped around her in embrace. Everything came flooding back to her, in one single instant- every missing memory, every fractured recollection, every moment of elation... longing... heartbreak. “I-I’m getting you soaked, a-a-aren’t I?” Kaija smiled, planting a subtle kiss upon Selena’s cheek. “I don’t care.” Outside, the clouds convened, the winds parted, and the pleasant smell of petrichor filled the air. The rain had just begun once more.

[Remember] S u m i

D y m e n t

Her voice still echoes through the wind, It whips around my rosy ears trapping them with the lasting memories, I still feel myself longing for her gentle touch on my rough bitter skin, Her warmth grazed my pale cheeks through the bitter cold, My dreams still have her glassy eyes staring in the deep evergreen, She was my candle lighting the way through the dark, But Out of everything I remember Her auburn hair Her deep emerald eyes Her soft pale skin, Her touch I can’t grab the memory of her name Her name sits in my mouth But seems to be trapped in the distant memories.

[Lil’ Man, Big World] C a r o l i n e

G i e n a p p

[serenity] M o r g a n

i think back to words spoken from the poisoned tongue, that once kept me in line the one that now i’ve learned to step out of for my own peace and benefit reshaped and reformed, i now have never felt better, now that i’ve felt worse because time formed me into who i didn’t want to be, but i mended myself and now i live in serenity

E d e n f i e l d

[Sunk] C o l e

F l e t c h e r

Sunk I voyaged too deep I slipped The darkness engulfs me The echoes of my screams bounce between the walls in my head The colorless void reflecting back at me The emptiness of it all keeps me in my wake The lack of sleep is tormenting The absence of food only enlarges the pit in my stomach My lungs bleed at the death of air The darkness of pit bleeds into my mind Sinking deeper into my own thoughts Embedding its presence in my head Sinking deeper as all of my thoughts and memories disappear with it I fade away as I sink

[The Pirate’s Parrot] Her wings have become encrusted in a diamond like salt Transforming the brilliant blues and greens that once mimicked her jungle home Into a poor imitation of the stormy seas she now roams. Her beak is overgrown and sharpened to a fault A golden sword to either wield into battles upon the deck Or a punishment for her owner’s unruly subjects. Her cage is made of dark wood, sitting in a vault Jewels and bones hang off the bar’s edges Yet she is rarely seen in this gilden den of legend Her squawks are rough, more like an audible assault Combined with her sword beak and stone wings Her story will be given the treatment of a kings For the legend of the pirate’s parrot shall forever be sang

L i l l i e

S a w y e r

[There is Something About the Rain] M a r k

F e l t

I have always thought that there is something special about the rain. I just can’t say what though. I must just be going mad, it’s like there is something in it. The rain is Formless, shapeless, but just as real as anything. Imagine trying to explain rain to an alien, that life giving liquid just falls from the sky sometimes. But we can’t really control it. It just decides that it wants to start and it goes. And goes, and goes. Until it’s not able to go anymore. Even when it does run out, all the water just seeps back into the earth and eventually goes right back up. Water never truly goes away, just hides. It may never really show back up again. Stuck in a laboratory, in our own bodies, in the trees. Not until the last life has died, last ocean dried, last river drained, and last lake dredged. Will the water ever truly go away. But even then, who’s to say it won’t come back eventually? You ever been in a classroom on the top floor when it rains? The sounds of the drops rapping against the thin, tin roof. The rain sometimes isn’t as nice though. When you made plans outdoors for the day and it begins to rain, that’s always annoy-

ing. But sometimes, that’s the way it goes and you have to wait for the next opportunity. Or you can always just tough through it, but that may not always be the best option. And other times the rain can hurt. What is hail but not frozen rain? Hail is loud, damaging and cold. But it always ends eventually. The rain is just as beautiful as it is bothersome. As comforting as it is uncomfortable. There really is something special about the rain.

[What is time?] Time is a dance Time is a tango Time is a long and moving ballet Time is a race Time is a short, stout walk. Time is a lap around the track. Time is how the world keeps moving Time is my life And yours. Time is flying high up in the stars Time is the leaves falling to the ground Time is the world going round and round Time is the winter, the summer The spring, and fall. Time is death And birth And life. Time is as fast as a cheetah Or as slow as a tortoise. Its as sweet as honey, As bitter as my brother when he doesn’t get his way. Time is as giving as a tall apple tree Time is as taking as death. Time is what keeps us afloat

Time is what drowns me in the inky blue. Time is love Time is hate And all of the in between. Time is movement And time is a dance. That is time.

A n o n y m o u s

S H I P W R E C K 96

[A Twist on Peter Pan] m a h a l i a Dark green trees swayed in the magical silence of the night. Birds slept quietly with their little ones tucked under their wings in nests high in the trees. The light of the two massive blue moons with jolly faces filtered through the leaves onto the calm sparkling waters that trickled down the moss covered stones. Giggling orbs of light bounced around droplets of white sprays, carrying them in their spindly hands and writing songs into their wet middles. Every time a faeries’ foot caressed the water, rich golds and ambers waltzed across the waters’ surface. Happy creatures slumbered in their dens, filled with the obnoxious snores of mud ogres You could hear the pirates singing foul, haunting songs that chilled your spine from the other side of the island in their deep, honeyed voices. The only other things that were awake were the little children under the roofs of trees and mushrooms who made their homes in the safety of the roots underground. They made their doors in hidden knots in the bark or by removing a blushing mushroom cap and jumping into the tunnels that led underground. These children were called the ‘lost boys’, for they never grew up; they never knew mothers or fathers, only their leader, Peter Pan. He was the boy you’d often see flying curiously by your window at night after your parents had turned the lamp down and kissed you goodnight. He wore green leaves across his body and moss shoes on his feet, and at his hip he held a dagger with a golden hilt that sparkled like a chest full of jewels. In his blue eyes was a sparkle that only little children have, mischievous, full of wonder, and not yet broken by the world of grown ups. He would lead his lost boys on adventures and bring home food for his Wendy to cook. Of course, there really was never actual food, only pretend. The table would 97

be filled with imaginary spreads of colorful cakes and deserts, all kinds of potatoes, grilled cheese sandwiches with rainbow cheese, and spaghetti made from bunnie’s burrows. The smell of all the food wafted through the air like the flowers in the garden above their home. They’d been pretending for so long that their stomachs no longer ached for food after their games. In Neverland, imagination was more real than you and me. *** The pirates have taken over Neverland. Hook and his rats have taken it all away. The lost boys are dead, Wendy is dead, as are Michael and John. The forests that once held sweetly singing birds and creatures of the night are dead. The moons no longer shine, the faeries hide silently, their lights halfway out. Laughter is but a memories’ echo. I do wish with my whole heart that Neverland was still that way, still full of light and hope and games. The saying “all good things come to an end” must be true, for there is no other rational way to explain why Neverland is now a place of fear and anguish. Pan is the only light left. Even his faerie Tinkerbell has lost hope, for her light has grown dim and she weeps on his shoulder, tucked into his strawberry blonde locks. Peter once held the spirit of children in his right hand, the spirit of joy and games, he was once the best dream any child could dream at night. In Neverland, you never grow up. Until now. Now, the thoughts of a child could kill you. Peter’s boyish ways have become those of a man. His face has deep lines that run through his now gray eyes, and his voice has become quiet and somber. He seldom crows, seldom laughs, and never plays games, for he is the last of his kind. And he is being hunted. Captain James Hook, the evil man with red eyes to match his blood-stained hook that had murdered the lost boys and Wendy, will not stop at them. His purpose in life is to get rid of Peter Pan, for good. He hunts day and night, dawn to dusk, for 98

that boy. Sometimes he sees phantoms of the boy and begins slashing the leaves and vines with his silver cutlass. He slashes and slashes until he realizes there’s nothing there, and then he will sulk to the ground, remains of leaf slices floating down and dusting his raven black hair with the cruelty of his hand. What Hook does not realize is that without Peter Pan, there is no Captain James Hook. If he succeeds in killing the boy, he would destroy all of Neverland. Peter’s existence is Neverlands’ heartbeat; without a heart, one dies. Peter is Hook’s life. With him dead, there would be no reason for the Frightful Captain Hook. There! Hook stalks in the decayed vines and bushes, a sly smile creeps across his face! He sees Pan, who perches atop a Fly Agaric mushroom cap playing his pan flute somberly. His back is turned to the evil behind him. Hook advances. Tinkerbell jumps at the noise of Hooks’ breathing, and jingles frantic warnings to Peter, who turns about and faces Hooks’ raised cutlass, right about to plunge into his heart. He jumps back, reaching for his dagger. “Is it finally your time to die, Pan?” Hook growls as he stares into the eyes of his prey. Tinkerbell flies in the middle. To Hook, she screams faintly, “Stop! Stop! Don’t do this! You don’t understand what you’re doing!” “Oh, quit your whining.” Hook swings his claw in Tink’s direction, right at her torso. She lets out a whimper as the hook plunges through her. He flicks her body off of his hook, her wings shatter as she hits a tree and floats down to the ground, fragile as a leaf. Peter cries out and lunges toward him, rage overcoming him. Hook dodges his blow. Peter’s momentum swings him to the ground, right next to Tink’s tiny, lifeless body. She’s cold in his cupped hands as he picks her up. “What have you done?” Peter cries from deep inside, tears streaming down his creased face. She was the one person he had left in this forsaken land. Hook smiles and wipes his hook. “I’ve killed your lost boys, your Wendy, and now your sweet, delicate Tinkerbell. What did they die for, Pan? For you? 99

Is their blood on my hand because of you?” He advances toward Peter, who stumbles back into the tree behind him. “You thought you could save them! All your boyish games, all your youth! Did you think they could overcome me, Captain James Hook?” “I will always overcome you.” Peters’ voice quivers. Here, Peter faces his death. Do something! Please, dear one! Save him! Do you want your children to grow up too fast? To be children without a childhood? The hook raises high, high, high up into the air. An eerie laugh echoes through the forest. Just for a moment, the trees, mushrooms, and faeries, all things that inhabit Neverland, hold their breath. Even the waters stop rushing, and the moons close their eyes. Peter Pan looks into the eyes of his opponent. The hook swings down. Peter feels the sharpest pain he’s ever felt slice through his heart. His body goes cold. Hook’s battered, aged face comes inches away from his. The stench of foul breath swirls around them. “Goodbye Peter Pan”. Peter breathes his last breath. He pushes out one word. “Codfish”, and his body falls limp. Hook releases his claw from Peter, and as he straightens, shrill cries pierce through his ears. Neverland screams; the trees dissolve away in slivers of pine green, flowers and plants shrivel, all the faeries fall to the ground, the mud ogres wake from their slumber as they feel their bodies crumble. Mermaid Lagoon, The Indian Camp, Skull Rock, they all melt away like grains of sand blowing in the wind. Even the pirates’ singing ceases. Hook feels his fingers tingle, his hook falls off, revealing the ugly stub from when Peter fed his hand to that crocodile. He stumbles to what’s left of the water in the stream and stares at his reflection. A decaying, wrinkled face stares back at him. The face has wrinkles and lines, the skin is ashen. The eyes are 100

bloodshot and dark, like a snake pit. The cheekbones are sunken in. He watches his body disintegrate limb by limb. The land speaks once more, “Old. Alone. Done for”. Those four words scream in his ears; and soon, from his own lips he hears the very words being chanted. He’s old, decrepit, moldering. He’s alone, never to be at peace with another living thing, never to see his mother or father. He’s done for. One last thought crosses his mind. ‘Would I have ever had my own Wendy?’ A tortured wail escapes his lips as the last of his body disintegrates. The last things to leave are his eyes, with which he watches the waters vanish. Silence drapes over the empty void. No longer is there a second star straight on till morning. What is Neverland without Peter Pan? It dies. It does not exist. Farewell dreams, farewell children, farewell all those who jump with joy. Neverland is no more. Peter Pan no longer flies by your window at night. Faeries no longer jingle in the quiet forests. Please, do not kill those who inspire joy, for they are the ones that build the world; with them gone, there is nothing left. Mankind dies.

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[Ad Corvus] B e r k e l e y In a small kingdom in the plains of Vullenski, Brian Billie Gatrez was first in line to become ruler of the Kingdom of Hersh. He was raised to be cold and harsh, but with melting charisma, the perfect ruler. Despite this, there are always two sides of a coin. Prince Brian had found a curiosity in the nature hugging the edge of the kingdom, fascinated by everything dark and solid about it. He remembered a story his father loved to recite, about how a crow felt so jealous of Apollo, that its pure white feathers had burned to black. Brian wanted to find a pure white crow, the way crows used to be before the kind was sooted in envy. One day, the heir to the Gatrez family throne had gone out to find the stark sign of feathers petaling down the elkpath. He hadn’t found any true ones, not from a crow. Despite this, he’d been raised with determination and spite, and with this he would continue to search. Days had passed by like ripples, faster and faster the sun seemed to rise and fall, his skin soon rotting off his very bones. Time remained irrelevant in his mind, the only focus was to find a white feather. The thought of it plagued his mind, running him mad in the digits. Red grime dipped shears of obsession grappled his temples and dragged him further into the forest and soon up mountains. The concept of food, water, rest, none of it mattered because maybe if he could peak the mountain he would find the featherDistracted and delusional, Brian had been blind to the plummet. His focus was on the peak, he failed to realize that he was crawling towards his own death. An empty, icy valley with scarlet eyed wolves peppering the land thousands of feet below the edge. He swore he saw it, an ethereal glow above the chasm. 102

It’s pure white, as pure as the bones tearing out of his frail rotted body, as the snow grasping his frozen hands. The animated corpse of a lost prince, lurching towards the endless snow well. He finally fell, the last moments of light spent through eternity. There it was, a white crow feather. It blended with the snow falling around his plummeting body, but it defied the shades of the wind. In Brian’s last moments, he was happy. He was happy, a half dead chunk of cold rotting flesh slumping in the ice from thousands of feet above. Finally did he find peace in his journey, for he has found the treasure. Scattered throughout the snow at the bottom of the canyon, splatters of his heart paint the canvas red.

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[Basement Hymns] S o p h i a where was i raised if not these bleeding walls? these walls fed a child stories drenched in honey and beeswax to make them go down easier, and they fed the child bread and butter too. the sand from the box in the parking lot gets under your fingernails. the ladies’ restroom down the hall to the right forever smells like peppermint, and the classrooms smell like palo santo, now that i’ve put a name to it. everything smells like suffocating, sinking, falling, like autumn. i met god in the darkness behind the stage, with eight legs and webs that ensnare. a little kid went into the darkness, only a fragment came back and the rest was left behind. a ghost haunts the haunted place, fingertips on walls and oil on teeth and grime on a cracked mirror. when i was too sick to stay, the principal’s daughter sat with me in the school’s office and drew me a board game to keep me from the boredom of nausea. white paper bloomed into birch trees, waving grasses, a candy road winding through it all. the board disappeared into a sea of sketches in a journal long forgotten when i left. she probably forgot about me too, but i remember her if not her name. may the moon rise up to meet you, may the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face, and the rain fall softly on your fields. and until we meet again, may god hold you in the palm of his hand.

104

[Burrowing the skin] L e o

A m u n d s o n

Rain burrows into the skin Sickly pores absorb the droplets Pelleting against the pale cerulean surface, Melting away whatever rotting flesh shielded the skeleton from the sun Until the organs wither Into a mushy pile of remains And in the center, An unmoving heart. The rain penetrates the skeleton Mold, worms, mildew, Growing and sprawling in every crack, every crevice Of which hands couldn’t reach. The silhouettes of skeletons, harbored by meat, stand around the deceased, The unmoving heart, The oozing mushy remains Of what used to be one of them. The flesh-bagged bones stare into the sockets of missing eyes, And leave the skeleton, The unmoving heart, The scattered mushy remains, All deemed useless Unless sent below, To become one with what we walk upon, To let the earth be the skeleton’s new flesh That shields it from the sun. 105

[CRASH] the white speck bleeding outwards, the glowing smudge smeared by rain tires steadily wash the clotted wet air tumbling through the nauseous night, the truck’s grumble climbs out of the wind then a white pulsing pixel casting its last vexes into the street then the raincoat rustling as they wipe their snot gears and chains clicking a jab of black wind forces in the anesthetic; night broken up, swallowed in the white vision deep godlike voice bellowing from the eye-level headlights handlebar jerks right then—

t i q q u n

106

[Darling,] Darling,

Darling, Darling. My Darling rests beneath my thumb.

Cinch the line now, come in closer. Sweet little Darling, Mourning their reflection, Knowing not that they are not what they create. Sweet, stupid little Darling. eyed little Darling.

Spot-faced, snot-nosed, bug-

In no uncertain terms, my Darling is the most beautiful of them all. My Darling is a lamb of God. What are you?

M a r s

L .

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[Entombed] Z e e

I’m enclosed in a tomb of my own making Arching walls and dirt roof pressing down Snatching my breath and holding me in No light to speak of, no hint of day Stone tendrils encasing my decay A blindfold of death rotting me From the inside out To curse my captor would be to curse myself Soul torn by scarred and loving hands Each bead of sweat an unshed tear Retching and struggling to escape a Life spent wasting away, entombed

108

[Nature and stuff….]

M a i a : )

109

[Excerpt from “The Story the Sea Stole”] We escape it finally Almost completely unscathed Our ship and comrades, we have saved We turn the ship into a tunnel Inside there is a runnel We think we’ve escaped but that is not all For there is a beast that it quite tall We try to steer the ship away Six of our comrades are taken astray They are eaten in front of us By that stupid monster, how preposterous We manage to make it out of the cave This time we are not unscathed We thought we were safe, but no Our ship we cannot row For it is thrown into the sky Is this how we are going to die? Could all of that work account for nothing? Oh there it is, my death is coming For my hands hurt and my body is tired All for the master I admired Now however it feels misplaced For I am falling through the space Was I not a good toy for you, master? 110

I tried my best, but did it even matter? I fall into the hole with a big splash I’m screaming to my master All my trust finally being shattered What could I have done better? Not listening so intently to master Ithaca, my home sweet home My home which I will never again roam Ithaca, I miss you still I miss you, I always will Goodbye, sweet Ithaca Good night

W i l m a

G .

111

[excerpt from A Ghost Story] She lifted herself from the bed, with a mixture of confusion and desperation splayed across her puffy face. Slowly she walked to the mirror, staring at what had become of herself. Her hair was disheveled, the hems of her dress frayed. Her eyes began to well again but before a tear could slip out, the pressure she felt earlier returned. She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and stared back into the mirror. Her husband stood behind her, his front pressed against her back. He looked down at her, eyebrows furrowed. She watched him as he watched her, slowly slipping a hand around her waist. Her breath caught in her throat. His hand was the same as it had been, broad but kind, the veins that once protruded lay sunken and purple like delicate thread. She placed her hand on top of his, stopping it on the fabric that covered her stomach, his skin was cold and dry like paper, but just the sight of him, moving as he had, was enough to give the illusion of life. He touched his head to the side of hers, closing his eyes as if at peace. She watched his thick eyelashes flutter, something she had always adored. His nose peaked out from under his long hair, and she waited to feel the warm air of his exhale on her skin, or even just the coldest wisp of life. She felt nothing.

S o p h i a

112

L .

[familiar with the light] I have become quite familiar with the light now without it I feel as though I’m drained all motivation lost once day turns to night They say i’m too old to be afraid I watch everyone go out while I stay in bed because when day turns to night nothing but worry fills my head but when night turns to day nothing can keep me still it feels like a friends in the distance calling me to play but when night returns again my friend goes out for the kill he doesn’t ever say goodbye but instead fades into an inhuman cry as if the sky were a clock counting down the remaining minutes of my life and while horror fills my sight I have become quite familiar with the light

M a d i s o n

J o n e s

113

[flight] d a h l i a learning to fly, after death. what a beautiful fellow. a life cut short, a journey ended early. memories flickering in the back of my mind. words remembered, a quest incomplete. found letters, hope for i to continue his legacy. faded, ragged, old, crumpled, maps. the brisk, chilly, wind wraps my arms, as if a presence reassures me. the ferry lets out a final cry, as to let me know the adventure has embarked.

114

a .

[Foliage Shipwreck] B r o o k l y n

C h a p i n

If the sky were an ocean, how would it be? Wisps of wind being waves in the sea Autumn is when the ships set sail Veined docks of orange, red, and yellow flow in the gale We Are rocks In the oceanic sky, leaves twirl and dance with a chilly breeze A crew of dew drops and little bugs too small to see We walk past on the concrete floor Disrupting As rocks do, harmless yet powerful nevermore The hull of the leafy ship torn to scraps Hands of running children smashing sail in their grasp A shipwreck of the air Fallen into cracks of concrete somewhere Never to be acknowledged again

115

[Goodbye, I Love You] Trigger Warning: Death You are filled with children’s laughter and fun. A joyful breath of fresh air with a bright future. You were taken from me without remorse. A stranger grabbed you and killed you. You’re never coming back. The stranger pushed themself into your place, pretending to know what they’re doing, with no real idea. The stranger had fun for a little while, excited with a new life and a new world. Until they weren’t. The stranger missed what was, and wondered if they should have done this. But they stayed. The stranger hoped they did the right thing, until they realized they hadn’t. But they stayed. The stranger had made a mistake and wished they could go back, but it was too late now. You were already dead. So they stayed. The stranger simply survived now, wishing and wishing for the pain to go away, until they simply hoped they had done the right thing. They no longer knew the killing was a mistake. They only hoped it wasn’t. And they stayed. The stranger longed for the life they had, wondered why they killed it so quickly without thought. And they stayed. The stranger enjoyed some of what they had gotten, tried to distract themself with that. And they stayed. 116

The stranger grows up, becoming themself more and more, never giving the little boy the opportunity to do the same, they are forever young. And they stayed. The stranger knows it’s too late, there’s nothing they can do for the little boy. So they must stay. I am the little boy you killed. I am the stranger who killed you. Goodbye, I love you.

M i l e y

C o t e

117

[Grandfather] Ease has become a temporary tick of the clock. Seconds later, without anticipation, the grandfather clock chimes its warning. The ring bounces back and forth in your head. One moment it’s tingling in your legs, the next it’s in your hands, your chest, your face. Over and over, like the static sound of rain hitting a lake. It runs laps through your chest, in rhythm with the fast paced beat of your heart. It tries to escape through your breath, but that’s just slightly out of reach. The clock stares at you, and you stare back. It’s perhaps the only thing that crosses your mind, because the light at the end of the tunnel is simply the overhead light reflecting upon the glass of the clock. That reflection feels like it could be bouncing right back at you, because your hands are in a clammy sweat and your cheeks are red, and you don’t really know why. The quiet breeze of the absence of the blaring chimes knock the air back in your lungs. Rushing through your body, washing the lingering tingling sensation out through the tips of your fingers. So you sit, savoring the temporary ease that follows the rush.

C C C 118

[I Know I’ll Miss This] I hear a rough cough from the other room, “I won’t miss any of this,” my mother tells me, and I hope she doesn’t actually mean it. I was speaking with my great uncle, “Take it slow,” he says, but I don’t understand how I could. I’m watching moments fly past me. I try to truly savor every laugh, cry, disagreement. Our voyages don’t really last that long. I was in the car on a road trip to the beach, “It’d be nice to be a part of the ocean, To feel the tsunami’s and shipwrecks,” my dad remarks. The only chance we have to live is while we’re alive.

I R

119

[Memory] s e a

The waves barely brush over me like the memory of tears and I don’t remember I don’t remember today Sand in my hair nails in the sand and I don’t remember where where I am, am I where? Clouds like watercolors where they came from I don’t know I could be in the sky where you are, where are you? I don’t remember today but I remember your face your pretty eyes filled with fear the waves, the grayish blue my memory, my memory I only know you and the sand that covers my hands and the sky where you flew

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s n a i l

[Midnight Rose] m a h a l i a Waves break on the rocks below. Hawks, eagles, and doves cry in the rich dark sky. A woman frail and pale wanders around the edge of the sea. White foam sprays around her body glimmering in the moonlight like a thousand gems. Angry waves cling to her for life forming watery sheets around her waist a skirt of passionate blue. Her voice colors the air a deep lavender a purple silk. A wail A siren’s song. To one it would sound as if they’d ventured to the clouds in Heaven’s glory. To another it would sound as if their deepest most secret heartaches have been released in tiny glass fragments dotting the deep. Midnight Rose a woman a beauty lures you in. She’ll sink your ship and give you a Heaven-like hell in a watery grave.

121

[Planet Zageroth] Benji’s head was killing him. He had just awoken to find himself in what was left of the rocket ship he came in. His vision was blurry, and his ears were ringing. He sat in the rubble of ship QV37 for a few moments before his vision went back to normal and he realized that his ship seemed to be in two different pieces, and the leaves on the ground next to him were a vibrant blue. He looked up. A cluster of tall trees with blue leaves falling loomed down on him. His heart dropped. He quickly stood up and started searching for his radio. He rummaged through the contents of QV37, eventually pulling out his radio from a pile of junk. He pressed the green button and started to speak into it. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Static. “This Benjamin Sanders of QV37, can anyone hear me?” Still, no response. “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Benji said to himself. “Is anyone there? Please, someone pick up. Hello?” He heard only silence from the other end. He threw the radio on the ground and kicked it in a moment of frustration and then immediately regretted it. He slid onto the ground and pulled his knees to his chest. He let his head fall. Millions of questions flooded his brain. The main one being, how can I get home? Benji didn’t think things like this actually happened in real life. Only in movies and books. How does something like this even happen? Isn’t that rocket supposed to be built by geniuses? Or, I don’t know, rocket scientists? So how did he end 122

up on this mystery planet? This was any astronaut’s worst nightmare. Benji wondered what they were doing back down at the station. He hoped that they were able to place him on the map. That they were able to find him and bring him home. Benji looked to his left and noticed a pond. The water was a light pink. He leaned over so he could see his reflection. He could just barely make out his eyes from under the helmet. He stared back at himself. He dipped his gloved finger in the water and watched the ripples. He was so mesmerized by the way the water moved at the touch of his finger, he didn’t notice the tall, grayish creature with large eyes, looming behind him, staring at him through the water.

H R

123

[Orange Splash] H O H

124

[reject] the way you smile when you laugh i’m in denial as they continue to chaff that burgundy mask that hides your face even still, i ask do i belong in this place?

your large covering hood your jackets for layers it’s almost as if i could everyone else in their perfect pairs we could be good instead i drown the stall with my tears with all the pain i’ve withstood this new state of me shouldn’t compare… but these new things can’t be understood and nobody will ever care. sometimes i think they should but all that does to myself is impair. and i know i can rest assured that all i do is bring myself back to the first square. am i misunderstood? or is life just unfair? i can’t get you off my mind there’s nobody i can find 125

i try to get close but i know you’re not inclined it’s just that the feelings deem you blind to the point where your head twines i’ve crossed my line just to say i want you to be mine assume i’m wrong when i say it took spine i thought that it was my time to shine

w a l d e n

126

[Scared With Others] M i l e y

C o t e

I sit as quietly as I can manage. My breathing is small and forced into barely a whisper. I pull my legs up to hide, you must not see me. If you see me, I am terrified of what you might do. I am a monster. I’m a hideous beast, ugly and pitied. You try to hide your glances, but I know your thoughts are there. Growing bigger and bigger with each time you see me. So you must not. I tried to avoid it, there were opportunities given, but others grabbed them before I could. They don’t understand how much I need them. I can’t be seen. Fear is the only thing I can feel in my body now, pulsating through me. I am terrified. I pray you will all leave before I emerge, I wait for the perfect time. When I leave my curtain my face is red with embarrassment. You see me, you pause for a moment, transfixed with me. Then smile and pretend as if the thoughts aren’t there. I know they are. It is because of you that I am scared with others. They only have the thoughts because of you. I am only scared because of you. It is because of you that I am scared with others.

127

[Shipwreck] H e n d r i x

M c C l i n t o c k

Shipwreck The sea is filled with the tears of the dark stormy clouds as they swirl and spin in dizziness hypnotizing the waters. The thunder and lightning shout for help, crying in dismay. They ask for help from the non existent sun, that shines behind the darkened angered clouds. A ship dangerously travels through the rapid waves, Trying not to sink in the sea of sadness, Taking in word for word that the sirens scream. Covering ears, tears and fears. A wave of grief washes over them, Drowning souls, lost personality. All Love evaporated. I am a shipwreck.

128

[Siren call] It’s so loud so so loud. I can feel the boat rock as she sings. But I can only hope I’m hearing things. She’s getting louder I can feel the vibrations of her voice. Hopefully she’s not playing with me like some toy. Oh why cant this torture just end. But nobody will help, none will lend a hand. I was just trying to get to that fair land. Hopefully I’m closer to sand. For no one will help the man who was banned. Banned from love band from life. All because of one little lie. I hope this won’t be bitter sweet for this I know is my last retreat...

L i b b y

M i n i c k

129

[Staring Problem] Y o u r s

T r u l y .

Sitting in the cafe in enjoying this cup of coffee, Its warmth crawled in my throat, heat filled my lungs and veins. Looking across the way, Jazz sweetly slips into my ears and I’m just staring. I don’t mean to. It just happens. A simple glance could send me into cardiac arrest, A simple conversation could send my cheeks ablaze. Whether a staring problem or not, I admire the way the brassy sound seeps out of the bell soothingly to how the hands kept on the instrument. Everything slows down. Continuous sounds of a saxophone fill the room and I’m absolutely enchanted The coffee shop still smells smokey with hints of herbs dancing around. God, I want to live in this moment for longer, stare for a while longer. I love it. That’s all I ever hear when I stand there with them. Jazz and mellifluously toned song, no matter if it was loud and explosive or smoothly laced. It doesn’t matter though, I’ll just listen forevermore. Coffee in my throat, eyes distracted, ears fixated. And you’d never even know it.

130

[terry] m a i a

Terry sat in his brown leather armchair, fifteen dollar cigar pinched between two stubby fingers and remote perched on one bare leg. Smoke spilled from the cigar’s smoldering tip, it oozed through the dim air of the living room and blurred the television’s small and blaring screen. The TV was the only source of light, and it flickered across Terry’s lined and drooping face. Jeopardy was on. Celebrity, he was pretty sure. Not that it mattered. A contestant’s timid voice asked for four hundred in “80’s Pop Icons.” The question was read aloud. “This British band was Princess Diana’s declared favorite.” The iconic tune began to play. All the contestants looked stumped. Terry took a deep drag from his cigar, and with smoke pouring from his nostrils he croaked “What is Duran Duran.” The air grew thicker with sweet swirling vapor. The music continued ticking along, Terry coughed a violent and disgusting cough. Finally, somebody buzzed in. “What is.. The Police?” Terry laughed aloud at the female contestant’s (early forties, loose cashmere sweater, squeaking voice) stupidity. Ms. Bialik gave a sympathetic smile before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Black. That’s incorrect.” Maybe it wasn’t celebrity after all. He didn’t recognize anyone on stage; except for Bialek, of course. 400 points were deducted from the woman’s score, and she smiled sheepishly. Dumb bitch. Another contestant buzzed in immediately after. This one, a short balding man, guessed correctly. Duran Duran. The 400 was added to his score. He was now in the lead. Of course, if Terry had been there he would be the one in the lead. He knew the answers to every question. Not just in this episode, but every episode. He sucked on his cigar, holding in the delicious hot smoke for as 131

long as he could. It eventually seeped from his lips and pleasantly burned his sinuses as the next clue was selected. Two hundred in “What goes up?” A light clicked on from the kitchen. Terry’s eyes stayed on the screen. A hunched figure in a fuzzy cream bathrobe silhouetted the doorway. “These siblings created the first motor propelled airplane.” “Who are the Wright brothers,” Terry growled, as two contestants buzzed in at the same time. “Terry?” A meek voice from the doorway figure. Terry tried to ignore it and see which contestant would be allowed to answer first, the balding man or the curly haired woman who had been doing poorly so far. “It’s almost two… You need sleep. I just think-” “Shhhh.” Terry shooed the figure with the cigar hand, smoke trailed behind like a nosy ball and chain. The curly haired woman on screen answered correctly, although not without a slight nervous shake in her voice. She anxiously ran her fingers through her hair even as two hundred points were added to her embarrassingly low score. Bialek told the camera that a short word from Jeopardy’s sponsors was coming up. The silhouette shifted uneasily, clearing her throat delicately. Cheery advertisement music started playing, an infomercial for a kitchen set he had seen one thousand times. Terry finally glanced over to his wife. “Sherry, I’ll go to bed after this episode. You’re like a damn stalker in the dark, geez.” Sherry frowned deeply, the lack of light distorting her decently attractive face. She rubbed her arm, squeezing the soft fuzzy material of her robe. “Well, alright. Just.. get some sleep? I love you. And put out that nasty thing. You know I don’t like it when you smoke.” Terry coughed. He glanced at his cigar, sucked down one last load of smoke, then put it down delicately. He sighed as the ashes collapsed into their tray, knowing it wouldn’t taste half as good the next day. His wife lingered in the doorway, waiting for 132

an actual response. “Just go, God.” Terry shooed her away with one limp hand. She stood for a moment longer, then slunk away. Off went the light. Jeopardy came back on. He slowly blinked at the television, preparing himself for the next question.

133

[The Angel’s Seaside Daisy] They feed me air through their mouth Pressing their rough slim coated lips against my own Cold, blue-ringed and wrinkled Their slick sludge tongue pressed just so against my teeth They are beautiful like an angel Their scales glow Reflected off of void black eyes Glass sharp claws The chest of a man and hips of a woman They are beautiful like an angel --I am always cold. I have no concept of the time I have spent in their cave, my body numbed from cold, left in the spaceless black so long I convince myself they must have gouged out my eyes. Floating, tied to the floor of their cave with sea vines, hands and feet wrinkled beyond feeling, waiting patiently for death. Until they come to visit me, their scales casting an ethereal pale blue glow against the cold gray of the cave rock. They reach out to me, their talons softly scraping against the soft sea-soaked skin on my face, wrapping their scale coated arms around my head. Pressing their lips against mine, sucking the water from my throat and lungs, breathing out hot salted air. Their razor teeth scrape my lip as they pull away, leaving ribbon trails of blood in the water. I swear they try to catch them with their tongue. They sit with me in their cave, holding me against them, 134

my back to their chest and their tails wrapped around my hips and legs. They speak to me in hushed tones, songs and poems I can’t understand. They sound like waves rolling against sand and the water shakes with the sound of their voice. Fish still, ships sink, and the monsters of the depths touch the light to hear their songs. I feel next to nothing as they continue on melodically, running their fingers through my hair as it swirls around the water, picking stray pieces of seagrass and fish scales from the strands. We sleep this way, their body wrapped around mine, their hands firm against my stomach and chest, their claws digging into the soft flesh just above my breasts. Their tails wrapped around my legs like snakes, the scales slowly shredding the skirts of my dress. Their body warms the water around my own. And yet I am cold. I’m always cold. They are beautiful in the way that I imagine an angel would be. Ethereal and terrifying. They are the size of demons’ sons, their tails alone could wrap my body three times over and they’d still have fins to spare. The human skin they have is pale, near translucent, covering their face and down their neck, across a pair of broad masculine shoulders and a flat chest. Curving into a soft smooth feminine stomach and set of hips. The rest of their body is covered in glittering glowing navy scales that feel like iron across my skin. Their hair flows behind them in a cape of raven strands. Their eyes are black like the ocean pits. Dark and empty as the cave when I’m alone. They seem infatuated with me, like I’m a toy they have become too fond of. Or maybe I flatter myself and they simply enjoy playing with their food. Keeping me alive as long as they can, breathing air into my lungs, feeding me scraps of fish. Gently placing the shredded meat in my mouth, their thumb on my chin to keep my teeth from clamping shut. They place their fingers on my tongue so I can suck away whatever remains of the blood and oils, their nails cutting the back of my throat. I do so because I’m fearfully compliant. They taste like ocean air. I don’t know what they occupy themselves with when they are away. I’d like to assume what they are written to do in 135

children’s stories. Beautiful women lounging on rocks to sing men to their deaths, but they don’t look much like a woman and I was not a sailor, just a woman on the beach. I think about that beach while I float in the dark, about the dunes and tall grass, the rocks along the trail back to the house. The rusted porch swing and squeaky door, laying in a bed listening to the waves crash against the sand. Occasionally I find sleep this way. When I wake I still hear the waves against the sand in the melody of their voice, the hand they splay across my stomach weighing me to the grainy cave floor. They watch me, silent except for the songs they sing quietly under their breath, running their thumb back and forth slowly, ripping the fabric across my torso. We stare at each other, noses nearly touching, their other arm under my head, the swirling strands of my hair brushing against their face. They pull me into them, wrapping me tight against their chest, pushing their lips to mine, filling my lungs with air. But they don’t pull away and I watch them, the way their lashes flutter as we breathe. In out. In out. In out. There are days when they leave me alone for so long they find me just on the edge of death. Rushing to me in a glowing streak, crashing into my lips, the air they breathe hot and frantic burning my throat. I always cry when I fully come too, my tears mixing into the sea, and they cry with me, or at least that’s what it sounds like. Their songs are broken and sharp, like the hull of a ship cracking on sharp ocean rocks, the waves dragging stray ropes and clothes across the sand. They tuck me into their chest, rocking me back and forth, my ear above their heart. Except there’s nothing. Nothing but the empty sound of a seashell against my ear and I cry all over again. Sometimes I imagine what they will do when I die, how they’ll react when they find my body. I imagine they’d find me floating lifeless, eyes glassy and half open, fish already picking at my skin. They’d cut me free, pressing their lips to mine breathing into my lungs over, and over, and over again. Their 136

teeth would shred my lips as they pulled away screaming. The sharp broken minor note shakes the sea as fish flee, ships break in two, and the monsters of the depths never touch the light again. They’d pull me to their chest and sob an ocean storm, wrapping around me so tightly my bones snap. Laying with me day and night, holding onto my rotting corpse, fish sneaking bites and nibbles when they must sleep. Beating their tails against the cave walls out of raging grief until the rock crumbled and buried us both. I’ve been ready to die. For weeks I’ve been waiting for it, hoping it’s not as cold as this. I’ve been planning for it, waiting for a time when they are away or asleep. Taking less and less salted air from their mouth. Tonight I refused it, thrashing my head away in the water. They seemed confused, trying to speak to me in confused high pitched sounding hymns. I shook my head, the effort sending the dimly illuminated cave walls spinning. Surprisingly they complied, feeding me fish before laying us down to sleep, wrapping themselves around me the same way they always do. I laid awake, the tight overwhelming feeling in my chest spreading as the minutes and hours passed, nearly making me consider waking them up and sucking air from their mouth and lungs as if I had never breathed before. But I restrained myself, wrapping my arms around myself and curling into them instead, letting the warmed water between us soak into my skin as the feeling in my chest became unbearable. I didn’t want to be cold forever. --The oceans stormed as white foam ate away cliff sides As they held her bones against their body Sobbing broken notes as flesh and scales fused together Under piles of sea cave rubble She was a seaside daisy Ripped up and blown onto the beach 137

Pretty petals torn apart As the waves rolled onto the beach Sea glass clawing her to shreds She was a seaside daisy

M e r c e d e s

138

M a e

[Two dudes in the Forest] A n o n y m o u s

139

[The Shadow Road] You find yourself on a road. There is fog. Just fog. No air, just fog. You know you’re dreaming. You walk down the road. You see trees. No, not trees. Just the shape of trees. Not bushes, Just the shape of bushes. You know you’re dreaming. You hear what used to be a twig snap. You turn to see what used to be a deer. But it’s not a deer. Not any more. You know you’re dreaming. You have been walking. For a long, long time. What used to be your feet are aching. You still can’t see the end of the road. Are you dreaming?

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140

N a g l e

[The Ship was the Size of a god] Under the floorboards of a demon composed of flowers and bark I reside bound to the walls. My body is far beyond use and what’s left of it decomposes more and more everyday. Yet here I am trapped as my heart crawled to a stop long long ago. In a hell brought on by my own desires I utter a story of how I found myself here in a dark underground that smells so sweetly of lilacs and roses. One filled with many eyes that glow of milky gold. Today I think about only months ago where I sat so content. Looking so deeply into the demons eye There was nothing that could break my gaze, lest I go blind, letting white sores consume my eyes entirely. Their eye stares to my two eyes, but they were not looking at me. They Look far beyond me into the stars we sail past. Looking for something out of reach with such longing. All I stand to be is their voice, a role I used to believe I loved fulfilling. But that could be any number of plants influencing and intoxicating my all too susceptible brain chemistry. The way I think is so utterly entangled with them it becomes impossible to drag a brush through and remove the tangles. They have grown all through my body and made me their own. It began the night before I turned seventy three This beautiful garden called to me. Offered to let me stay, to mend the broken body I lay in waste with. To let me be boundless and free of the confines of my own body. With nothing but ache and misery keeping me sewn loosely together I obliged. At such an age I was convinced it was angels speaking 141

me off to heaven. However the angels caught in my gaze were made of bark and moss, eyes of honey with the bees trailing nearby. I concluded with no halo floating or wings to gracefully soar down from heaven, it was someone else finding me here tonight. I would later come to find they were the children that had grown from beneath the floorboards of the garden. They carried the near carcass of a body my soul resided in gently with hands of blossoms and hyacinths. The children from the ship, who weren’t children at all but plant people of full stature, seemed eager to have me aboard. As they set me down on the deck I could hardly believe when my legs held me on their own. I let out a small gasp of surprise at first and then laughed a great joyous laugh for here was I standing tall. I say it was a garden that called to me, which was no lie, but this garden’s roots did not grow deep into the ground. They wrapped around to form a hull and with flowers, colors so soft I thought they would melt if I kept looking, in full bloom lining in between. Three Trees on the deck taller than I had ever seen, even in my imagination I could not make them any taller. The sails draping down were woven of vines the size of the serpents that hid underwater and out of the sun’s reach. Every which way I looked I saw plant life made of a child imagination full of color and life. The ship was the size of a god So I called it Eden And the children of Eden soon brought me to meet their mother. In my nail beds is where it started. In the cabin is where I first saw Eden eye to eye, because a full face they lacked. Although even in the grace of new health I felt my legs quiver and bend. So I lowered myself to the floor, using my fingertips to 142

aid myself, sitting and crossing my legs. I didn’t know how I was to greet Eden. Would my words be more than noise to them? Could they hear me at all? I still only saw their eyes here in the cabin of the ship. I thought to raise my hand to wave instead. but before I could thistles started to poke beneath my nails Little pricks that should have been uncomfortable, possibly even painful. But I felt an immense sense of warmth as they dug deeper and deeper in. My nail beds had become their garden bed. I moved my fingers in slight to respond to Eden’s greeting. As much was a possibility, for they had been sewn to the floor by roots taking room in between the lines that composed my fingertips. Eden had wrapped its hands around mine. This was when I started to feel a sense of infatuation Born naturally of my heart or the first of many manipulations of my mind I ashamedly still do not know. An obsession growing so sickly in my mind like mold. I did all that Eden whispered into my ears, I perfectly repeated every message her children couldn’t hear. I spoke long to them about the place their mother longed to set root in. how clean the water that rained from above tasted, the eternal warmth the sun there provided. A heaven greater than the one I resided in as I spouted these stories. A heaven that I thought loved me but, at the time unbeknownst, only sought to use the meat of my bones and the hum from my throat. I was constantly awake thanks to Eden. I first saw this as a blessing so I may stare forever into their eye. A blissful existence that I wanted to bathe in forever. So I did for many months refusing to look away. During those months grew plants I conceived were a blessing all through my body. Little flowers that give my long smooth head a new sense of beauty. Branches holding sweetest berries ever enjoyed grew from my 143

arms. Between every bone I would have vines. Decorating my rib cage and put between every notch of my spine. As I breathe I feel the jungle growing in my lungs, the air I breath out is thick and hot. I felt joy at the sensation but this was the beginning of the slope and I soon began to slip. What awaited me at the bottom of this fall was a fate death would see as a paramount punishment As the jungle grew in my lungs so seized my voice slowly. Mushrooms that stayed in the dark cavities of my body quickly consumed my throat but I continued to speak. Between every conversation I jerked my neck about and swallowed endlessly to clear the fungi. This worked only for so long before I was of no use to Eden. I thought Eden would care for me as a mother, and tend to my ailments but I was deeply mistaken. The love that I was convinced to have felt was nothing more than a ruse to keep me content until my purpose was served. A deep pit grew under my knees and only by the thistles in my fingertips was I still held from plummeting into its depths. Without words I could not beg Eden as my mind finally cleared to the deception it had fed me for so long. So with my eyes I pleaded into theirs. For the final time their eye stares to my two eyes. But just as every moment like the ones I sat staring at them, they were not looking at me. Tears could not well in my eyes as leaves replaced the were they come from before they fall. After all this hurt I still grappled on the act of Eden lowering me down into the dim lighting as love. I had feared a fall but gracefully the long stems of the thistles pressed me to a wall in the hull. In my mind I wept out lashed about begging them with no dignity, for Eden not to leave me here alone. But the light from the whole quickly dissipated and to Eden I was gone. I was forsaken to such a hellish graveyard. 144

find

In the darkness however this was no graveyard I came to

A graveyard is filled with the inscription of loved ones passed, each marked and honored. Down here only the many eyes of strangers piercing through the dark, like the thorns that grow into my skull, marked a life lost. I was not the first and I will not be the last I realized all in one moment. It was only a matter of days before I heard the sound of a new soul, soon to be damned. I could hear them, muffled still, I could hear their laughs above us all at the revelation of the heaven that stood before them. I could see the eyes blink in a frenzy as did mine. Silently screaming for them to escape before Eden could hold them to rot as they did to me, To us. This proved futile as did it the next time it happened so again and many, many times more. All of the eyes that created a string of lights down here in this waking nightmare each having been tricked like I. Another pair of eyes greeted this mockery of a graveyard and I grew apathetic. So here I am now, recounting my story as another set of golden eyes joins us in the dreary chorus. I sometimes wonder if they felt the same as I did when they first looked into Eden’s eye. I could just barely see a sliver of it every time the pit tore agape. But now I look away from the one to a new pair of eyes, ones that stared right back at mine. But the soul across from me stared, it wasn’t me they were really looking at. It wasn’t me No They looked far beyond me at something out of reach I think of them foolish 145

But here I sit looking beyond their eyes as well Looking into the stars And into a Heaven’s shore that we would never wash upon

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D u n c a n

[The widow] The sunlight emerges from behind the clouds, The forest begins to stir awake, The blinding light hits the glistening web, The widow stop’s her hard work and admires the silky weaved home she has made, As the forest comes alive, Food gets closer, Closer, Closer, Closer, Trapped. I’d try to stare into your eyes, But I know you’d just see right through,

P r e s l e y

B r o w n

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[Unrequited Love]

A n o n y m o u s

I’d try to make you laugh, But with me you’re only blue. I’d try to hold your hand, But I know you’d move away, I follow you like a puppy, Hoping someday you’ll stay. I’d write you a letter, In pretty, scrawling, text, But I know you’d only ignore it, Not caring what’s next. I’d run to you in the rain, I’d love you through the pain, I’d give you my sweatshirt, I would braid your hair, Normally not so carefree, But for you I would dare. I would listen to every word you said, Hang onto it like, bare, tangled, thread, I’d wait for you and stay behind, I’d never look away, I’d give you the world, Forever in a day. I would be there always, And forever be true, If only you loved me, The way I love you. 148

[UNTITILED] A n o n y m o u s

the voyage was rough, the shipwreck made it harder, land we still did see.

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[Untitled] C y a n Brown Is the color of the Falling leaves, Finding their final resting place On the rain soaked pavement. Brown is the sound Of the strumming of an acoustic guitar, Filling my small room with her gentle song, As she hums soft melodies under her breath. Brown feels like my room Lit only by The soft glow Of my candle. Brown feels like the warm blankets I wrap myself in. My fuzzy socks, Thick sweaters, Hot coffee in hand, steam fogging my glasses. It smells like freshly baked bread, Like gooey chocolate chip cookies, Like vanilla soap, and Campfires. Brown is the color of the Falling Leaves.

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P r o v i n s a l

[Untitled] K y l e e

H e l d t

So I sat. While a raging storm surrounds me. My tears flow like the powerful rain above. It seems like even the earth has had a terrible day. I sat there for a long while, too discouraged to go home. The only sounds are the occasional trains, the thunder booming, and the rain pounding on my bags behind me. I’m the only one out here, even the animals have hid away. My whole body continues to get soaked, and I’m shivering. This is the worst feeling I have ever had in my entire life. Who knew it was possible to feel so sad?

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[Untitled] As I climbed the steep and Precipitous mountain, a view luminary, a very Daunting expedition. Nearing the summit, the air breathing thinly Upon my exposed skin, I slip one foot and quickly Regain balance, filled with Determination. I approach the top, pacified. And I let out a yawp, “I can Touch God from here,” yet No one is to hear me. And I plummet down, atop This rock and look up at The Heavens.

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K u c k e l m a n n

[Upon Venerable Waters] Too many talk as if they know all; man displays himself for worlds to see so that he might intoxicate his mind with sweet veneration. This is his snake, for he must cycle through this turnstile of self-approval, lest one is to sink deep a blade into its heart and distrust this cycle. The man atop the wheel shall fall—that is predestined. He must find importance in what he does after the fall. I have watched many dangle over the shallow depths that contain venerable desires. To view these pits is to tempt your fragility with an anchor. Once our toe is dipped into its waters, we are prone to submerging ourselves in such. These puddles are the worst breed of aphrodisiac, for they reveal what is truly despicable about a man’s character. If a man is to discover his Devil, he should look to a mirror and wait. He shall see wraith swirl in his eyes. Yet he has the wisdom of precaution; the Devil cannot escape his prison until venerable waters have touched them, rendering them spongy and porous. He shall seep from from his prison. The Devil will thus consume you. This is my call: seek out your lonely mountain and build a castle atop it. V a l

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[Vines] It feels like ivy is encompassing my throat every time I start to open up. It tightens its hold around me. Latching and never letting go. The mix of poison ivy and rose thorns all tangled up, wrapping themselves tightly around my vocal cords. The thorns from the roses start to scratch at the insides of my mouth. To the point that if I were to even slightly part my lips, the crimson from the inevitable scars would come pouring out. The ivy vines wind themselves rhythmically up the canals of my neck. creeping around my trachea and omohyoid to impale the skin and enclose themselves around the outside of my throat, successfully choking me until I reach the breaking point. But the worst part of it all, is the eyes. The judgmental eyes peering out from people who see the mess I’ve become. The people who I’m closest with. The purest form of pity in their frivolous perception. Looking at me. Judging me. That’s the worst part. So I don’t speak up. 154

I bottle up the vines, thorns and roses, downing the disgusting drink so they can’t find a way back out. If I keep my mouth shut, they won’t try to escape. And as it starts to pool in the pit of my stomach, this bundle of torture won’t ever have to be seen. Not by my family, not the couple across the street. Not even my closest friends. And try as I might, the vines will always win, Yet the eyes will never see My precious sorrow again.

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[What the.....] C h l o e

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: D

[When I Found Peace] May 31 1839 The air flowed freely inside of the tunnel I would often hide in. The calm, serenity of it made me smile. I don’t know who made this tunnel, I don’t know why humans stayed away from it. All I know is that it holds a quiet, emptiness I so rarely got to see in a loud chaotic world. Not even Phillip Whittson knew about this place. He only knew I left him, headed south to who knows where, for a few hours every day. Tinnothy knew, but only because I showed him. I spent my time there reading, or imagining what I would do if I didn’t have to care for Phillip. Oh, I could sing, solve wars, or even just live a peaceful life as a shopkeeper. Oblivious. I was so oblivious. I didn’t realize how much I depended on him. “Silvia!” Great, Tinnothy. “Silvia, master Phillip needs you, he says he has an upgrade!” he shuffled, not bending his knees, semi-unnaturally traversing across the floor. I sighed and rose to my feet. “I suppose I should leave then.” “I suppose you should.” The walk back was a half hour long. I would be easily distracted by the need to oil the squeaky hinges in my legs, but apart from that, I traveled without lingering. The journey was chaotic. Listening to the damnation of the living. A drawback to near infinite memory space is you have too much on your mind to remember to forget things. 157

And don’t underestimate the power you have to forget. If you forget then you have no regrets. Some are even interested in the drama. like hearing a single mother beg for her church to let her enter so you stop to watch the fallout of their faith in their own ideals, or an old couple plead for a few more days of housing. Even the stuff the humans call “exciting” like robberies that kill three cops are lost on me. After a while, all you hear is the crying of their children, who will grow up to repeat the cycle. Humans were different. Humans forgot, they would push it out of their mind. Maybe that’s why they were so cold. But know this; mechanical minds remember all. Talk, Talk, Talk! Never hear, Never listen, Never understand. Discriminated, Incriminated, Incarcerated. That was the way of human life. And I despised it. All of it. The hate, The lies, The FOOLS. Silence was deafening upon my entrance to the laboratory through the ornately decorated doors. “Whittson? What do you need?” I asked, my voice echoing throughout the empty room on the fourth floor of the manor. “It’s just an upgrade.” Phillip Whittson said, his eyes meeting mine. I didn’t like this. Nervously, I walked in and had a seat. “Phillip? What kind of upgrade?” I trusted the man. I really did but something felt off here. His eyes seemed to have lost their color and he seemed less sure of where everything was. 158

“You’re not Phillip-” horror and realization dripped down my brow. “He’s usually at the factory this time of day, not the…” “SILVESTER! THE DOOR!” Phillip, or rather Festus shouted. The sound of the latch is all I remember after that. Alone with the enemy, Trapped and depowered.

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Wordsworth Literary Magazine Fall 2023 Issue “Songs of the Siren” Cover Art by Milo Smith