Wordsworth Magazine Spring 2022 by Wordsworth Literary Magazine

Wordsworth m a g a z i n e

fell too far

w o r d s w o r t h

Staff...

Elana Roldan, Co-Editor Seneca Christie, Co-Editor Mia Lewis, Co-Editor Jody Bault Adams, Advisor Alex Cusack Austin Anderholt Berkeley McLean Elijah Thomas Ella Thompson Ellie Chrissopoulos Elliot Christensen Gabby Rosenberg

Holland Hauskins Holland Rudolph Ian Lafontaine Isaac Hamann Isabel Giacchino Jaila Esterline Lilli Contreras Lillie Sawyer

Madeleine Karcher Myst Morgan Nora VanRees Paden Geddings Sage Bledsoe Sophia Lane Sumi Dyment Zoe Thomas

[editor’s letter] Dear Reader, In the same way the cycle of a school year has brought us closer to another conclusion, this year’s final issue of Wordsworth holds out one more hand before the summer to traverse the lunar cycle with you. We, like the moon, undergo phases that string together our lives. Our new moons—our unwritten stories, our potential. Our crescents—the first steps we take, the glimpses of what is to come. Our full moons—the ripened bloom of a journey’s end. And our lunar eclipses—the uncertainties, the steps in shadow, but also the new coats of paint. With these pieces, allow yourself to be taken through the many cycles they bring and delve into their words. Perhaps even fall too far. No matter what phase you leave this issue in, we hope it is as wondrous as those that inspired this magazine. Many thanks go out to those who helped during this issue’s own cycle. We would be nothing without the staff who come to meetings every week to support this magazine and the fantastic writers and artists who send us their submissions. A special thanks is of course owed to Ms. Adams, who always brings a warmth and supportiveness to each phase of the creation process and continues to be at the heart of Wordsworth. Lastly, we’d like to thank you for letting us celebrate our students and making the continuation of our magazine possible. Sincerely, The Editors It is with pleasure that we present our spring 2022 issue:

fell too far

t a b l e o f

c o n t e n t s

new moon Abi Collins Alex Cusack Anonymous Anonymous E ella thompson Finch Logan Hailey Burdick Hailey Burdick Holland Havarah Elizabeth Jaila Jasmine E K. Nickel LL love mara denmon-bailey Mercedes Paden Geddings patricia c. Peyton Lingo sage bledsoe Seneca sophia Star Wilson Sumi Dyment

But Wait, Look Closer 2 lost 4 A town 5 lunch atop a skyscraper 7 Roses 8 basil and bamboo 12 Drowning 13 Untitled 14 Burning Eyes 15 We are strong 17 great expectations 18 As The Years Go By 20 Witches 22 The One Reliable Thing 25 love 27 little ghost 30 Sun and Stars 31 grey 32 “Do you want to stay with me under the stars tonight?” 33 Purple Playful Flowers 35 harmonies of life 36 and we were willows 37 untitled 39 Her Odd “Dream” 40 My Grandmother’s House 49

crescent moon Abi Collins Addison M. Avery Shoemaker Ayden Borgoyne Ceder Kendall Elana Shae Ian Lafontaine Inked Tragedies IR isabel leon Mahalia Mahalia Myst Morgan Nora VanRees Paden Geddings patricia c. Payton Woods pip Theseus thuy chau Tokumei No Sakusha

Into 48 The Phases of the Moon 49 Phasing With the Moon 50 Hysteria 52 Untitled 54 Umoya: Creation Myth 57 the stillness 59 Starcatching 62 Untitled 64 practice makes perfect 65 our moon waned to crescent 66 A Place To Love Myself 67 Moonlit Scars 68 Prolonged Thought 70 An Old House 71 is it ash or is it snow? 73 fragment 74 Phases of the moon 76 him 78 Flowers 80 quarter glass 81 The Subject 83

full moon Ai Hua Mouse 92 Anonymous Over the moon i go 93 Cayden C Before ~ a poem written at midnight 95 Ceder Kendall Empty Halls 97 Charlotte Protected 98 Cole Fletcher THE DARK 100 Elana Shae Passing 101 ella thompson frost 102 Finch Logan Living 104 Holland Havarah Elizabeth Awoken 105 Hudson Conboy The Moments of Fall 107 Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik First Homecoming 108 Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik Deliver Me 113 Lacey C Summoned 117 Lillie Sawyer Cheese Moon 119 Miley Cote Change Poem 120 Paul Collins From your Biggest Fan 122 quinn Mountain and the moon 125 Sarah Gardner Untitled 126 Seneca ladies of the solstice 127 sophia untitled 130 sophia (raven) giacchino life on the moon. 131 Tokumei No Sakusha The Defector 132 Turtle Fall of Fall 138 Wilma Glowing Circle 143 Wisconsin Yukon, Washington. 144 YESSIR Just A Little Bit Haunted 145

lunar eclipse Ai Hua Coins 150 Anonymous Blue 152 anonymous demeter 153 anonymous my nightmare 155 Anonymous So tired 157 Cerenitee peraza A label on a sticky note 159 E Brighter 160 Eli T Fuzzy Woolen Sweaters 161 Erin Moriarty Pollution Dissolves Me 162 Halo Amberlynn You 165 I. M. Brown Sleep 166 Ian Lafontaine Crying 167 Isaac Hamann X-Katana Mecha-Zoom 169 isabel untitled. 170 Jaila Make Me a Cherry Blossom Tree 171 K. Nickel The Depth of Eye Contact 173 kadence brother 176 5th Grade Logan Broken Glass 177 Logan Burnell Broken Glass (Remastered) 178 Luci D. Lonely 180 Luci D. An argument between skies, the story of earth’s demise 181

Mae Feshazion My Heart is Like a Lunar Eclipse 182 maia! :) love letter to our star 183 Mars L. Exit 185 Mercedes The least you could do was just tell me a lie 186 Noa U. Gen-ethics 190 Nora VanRees The Warmth of Yesterday 193 Payton Woods A once in a lifetime deal 194 pip philophobia 196 R. S. Gardner Silence, Silence 197 R. S. Gardner Diesel Days 198 Ruby S. Mr. Roberts And The Old House On The Hill 201 Ruby S. “Her Again?!” 208 Val H Doth dare to bare 215

visual art Audrey Ahrens Audrey Stenger blushy Chloe D Elana Shae Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik Kira Spencer Luca Fox Luca Fox Luca Fox Luci D. Mahalia Marin Racine Maryelle Waterhouse Nylah River Almsted rylee nelson trinity h Wilma yarah y

Mari 3 Untitled 106 Cherry Blossom Stray Cats 51 Moonlight 112 Blue Moon Child 99 and cover No pity 118 The Birth of a Father 6 Broken 124 Cutaway 16 Going Dark 29 Inner Workings 53 Moons and Maniacs 63 A Place To Love Myself 79 help me wesley 158 A Late Night 72 The Phases 45 Sol Lucet Omnibus 175 the moon 96 untitled 189 The Glowing Circle 142 moon janitors 200

new moon

[But Wait, Look Closer] Is that me? Little tiny me, wearing the cute pink dress. I was the center of attention; being the baby and all. I wonder what I was thinking; who were all these people around me? Why were they holding me? My mom was someone who I could actually make out their features. She looked so much like me when she was my age. But wait, was I always the center of attention? Look closer. I see a little blue eyed, blonde hair boy: my brother. There were more brothers to come, more legos, more dinosaur toys but no more sisters. Brothers, sisters, mothers, we all have something in common: we’re a family. One with a caring, loving, persevering mom. So I just want to say thank you so much, for giving me such a wonderful family. These questions made me intrigued, so I’ve decided on the whole to devise a plan to get that book.

A b i

C o l l i n s

Mari B y

a u d r e y

a h r e n s 3

[lost] A l e x

C u s a c k

Where am I going? I don’t know. I was hoping you would know that. I’m lost. I used to have a map. That’s gone now. Maybe one day I’ll see it again. We will all find our maps one day Even the maps we lost along the way. We all return back to the starting point of our maze.

[A town] A town A Mexican town. Beach town. A small town. A town where everyone surfs. A town where everyone is nice. A town where people own restaurants on sandy beaches. A town where you can see the beach from your room, gift shops left and right A town with lively music and people. A town where all you hear is waves and shorebreaks. A town where you can hear cars and motorcycles passing by in a rush to deliver tamales. A town where you hear many people selling ice cream on the street telling you all the delicious flavors. A place where you smell the salt and freshness of the air, where in the morning you never wake up grumpy. A town where you smell the food and culture. A town where people go to get away from the busyness of Work and traffic. A town where it’s not rushed and you can slip away into thoughts you never thought of Puerto Escondido A n o n y m o u s

The Birth of a Father B y I s a b e l l a B o n i f a c i o - S u d n i k

[lunch atop a skyscraper]

A n o n y m o u s

he sits with greasy boots and muddy pants dangling above the city a big ol’ sandwich in his paws he takes a chomp bits of tomato explode from the bread seeds and all soar down drench mrs. rockefeller and her pretty pink petticoat as she departs from the cab she shrieks a seedy grin he couldn’t be any happier

[Roses] E

The prince lay on his bed with a sigh. He had spent the day shadowing his parents, a task that had become more frequent—and more exhausting—over the past year. To the prince’s relief, he had time to himself before dinner, though this time was never fully relaxing. Some days he spent his time catching up on work for his studies, but most days he spent dreading dinner with his parents. Every night without fail, the king and queen would talk about potential suitors and suitresses for the prince, or ask questions about his thoughts on the last young man or woman who had been a guest. Some days this could be more exhausting than shadowing his parents, and tonight he was especially dreading it. He had no interest in marriage yet. At the moment he only wanted to rest. He was about to close his eyes when a bright red caught his attention. There, under one of his many pillows, was a rose. A smile spread across the prince’s face. He sat up to observe the rose. It was from the royal gardens, there was no doubt. The prince stood, gingerly picking up the rose before walking to his desk. On his desk sat a vase filled with roses. Some were withered and brown, only a couple of petals desperately clinging on. Some were just starting to wilt. Some were fresh and bright. The prince cherished each of the roses. To him, they were all perfect. Once, his mother told him to throw out the older roses. They were too wilted, out of place, no longer beautiful. He had refused. But when he wasn’t able to explain his attachment to 8

the ruby flowers, the queen had the roses thrown out. She had received the silent treatment from her son until the appearance of the next mysterious rose. The prince placed his newest rose in the vase, a small smile dancing across his face. He knew where the rose came from, but from whom, he didn’t know. The mystery was part of the fun. A prince receiving mysterious roses which came from the royal garden? It was quite a story. And not every story needs an end. At least, that’s what the prince told himself. To avoid spiraling down a path of trying to identify the rose-giver, he gazed out his window, which looked out over the royal gardens. It was his favorite view from the whole castle, especially at sunset. Down in the gardens was a boy about the prince’s age, one of the royal gardeners. The prince felt a blush spread across his cheeks, watching the gardener boy. From his window, the prince could make out the gardener boy’s dark curls from under his worn straw hat. He seemed to be planting saplings along the edge of a path that disappeared into the foliage of the gardens. Before he was caught staring, he called down. “Hello!” The gardener boy looked up, “Hello, your majesty!” “Are– are you busy?” “Always am. But yes, you can come down!” The prince grinned. This was his favorite part of the day. After all the tutors, suitors, and royal duties were gone and done for the day, he could go down to the gardens with the gardener boy. He could smile. Meeting with the gardener boy hadn’t started out this easily. A couple of times, while accompanying his parents on tours of the gardens, he had caught glimpses of the gardener boy, and he became curious. A couple of glimpses turned into watching from his window. Which turned into the occasional 9

evening visits, and eventually an easy friendship. Well, to the prince it wasn’t quite friendship. There was a reason after turning down marriage offers, he chose to talk with the gardener boy almost every night. There were reasons, countless reasons, the prince loved him. The prince snatched his cloak from his nightstand. He raced down winding staircases and through empty hallways, fumbling with his cloak clasp as he went. After his mad dash through the castle, the prince reached the garden. Light from the sinking sun sent glowing patterns of orange, pink, and yellow dancing across the stone walls. And there he was. Leaning on a shovel, looking towards where he knew the prince would emerge. The prince felt his blush return, hoping it was disguised by the warm light. “So, how was your day, your highness?” the gardener boy called as the prince made his way towards him. The prince laughed, “I’ve told you, call me prince, if you must call me by one of my titles.” “Well then, how was your day, my prince?” My prince. “I’m, uh, it was okay.” The prince fumbled for words. My prince. “Just okay? Come on, your majesty, you’re the prince! The pride and joy of this kingdom. Surely your day wasn’t just ‘okay,’” teased the gardener boy. “Oh, you’re right! How could I forget? Today I went on the wildest adventure and conquered a dragon! Is that exciting enough for you?” The gardener boy laughed, and the prince’s heart filled with happiness. His laugh. A reason I love him. “Yes, my prince, that’s exciting enough for me. And how did you defeat this dragon? By singing it a lullaby and stealing its treasure as it slept?” His imagination. 10

His humor. The prince faked a gasp, “How did you find out? I thought I made sure nobody told you until I could.” “The news is all over the kingdom! In fact, I heard some guards talking about your triumphant victory. As I said, you’re our pride and joy. How could I not know?” The gardener boy grinned. “Well, I’ll have to have a word with the guards about their gossiping,” the prince huffed, crossing his arms with fake annoyance. The gardener boy smiled. The prince froze. His smile was so real, so genuine, so pure. After a moment his arms fell to his sides and he smiled back, their eyes meeting. There they were, the prince and gardener boy, smiling at each other. And this moment was better than any of their banter, their window conversations, their shared laughter. This was real. A ringing bell broke into the perfect moment, and they both jumped. “Oh, well, I should probably head to dinner.” “I guess I need to get back to work, this–um-“ The two boys talked over one another, the prince backing away and starting to jog towards the castle, the gardener boy grabbing his shovel. “Bye! Promise you’ll tell me about any more dragons you conquer!” The prince turned back, catching one last smile from the gardener boy before heading inside. “Don’t worry, I will!”

[basil and bamboo] e l l a

t h o m p s o n

basil and bamboo were their names, cocooned in the green world of a quiet home. they were good cats, with a good owner, who fed them often and loved them always, and it was because of this that they would purr and wrap themselves around her denim legs when she came home from school and fall asleep to the soft sound of her breath at the end of a long day.

[Drowning] F i n c h

L o g a n

He claws his way up from the depths of the earth Struggling to keep his head above the soil As others stroll past on solid ground Unburdened by the weight of the air around them As it clings to his skin and pushes him down But he still fights his way up Dirt under his nails and grass in his lungs Closing his eyes and screaming But the moss in his throat blocks the sound from escaping And he only chokes on air

[Untitled] H a i l e y

B u r d i c k

I see them Cohesive, not for the sake of health For the sake of love, if love were built as a punishment Love, built as a test, she teaches you a lesson Lessons be known only when separated from your twisted teacher. Let my warnings be known Hear my screams Watch my skies, feel my tears Let my sadness wash your mind I continue to wash what little patterns I can In hopes that I may bring you clarity Hear me so that I may sway you See me so that my pained expressions may warn you Paint a picture with my words so that our story may be heard Remember moments spent under a moonlit sky, and melancholy winded whispers. Know your mistakes. Let her see her own. 14

[Burning Eyes] H a i l e y

B u r d i c k

His evil eye A color that only describes violence His glare, the fixated center of his face fills me with uneasiness Reason enough Running circles in my head Fighting guilt with small notions of justification For evil eyes taint and boil innocents That light must be snuffed Precise planning and schemes are proof enough My mind is whole My mind is made But something eats at me Guilt? Perhaps a fear of judgement Those eyes I hated most faded But born a new fear For all eyes And minds Have the ability to burn

[Cutaway] L u c a

F o x

[We are strong] H o l l a n d

H a v a r a h

E l i z a b e t h

I am always scared Scared of the dark Scared of being alone Scared to let other people know who I am And what I am is Silly and kind Maybe I look intimidating But I care I’m over dramatic And maybe a little too much But I like being too much Because when I am small I feel weak And I am not weak None of us are I am strong And courageous We are all strong If only we let ourselves See it If only we shut Out doubt If we don’t let our fears And other people Stand in our way We can accomplish Anything and everything

[great expectations] I feel like a big girl in this body, The long awaited iteration of myself that has been sought after since preschool. The girl I have always imagined, Did not come to live magically when I turned fifteen, And I do not see her in the mirror now at sixteen. I can never live up to my own expectations from all those years ago. Growing up feels like cutting it all away, Pretending I never longed for more. Every step towards eighteen tastes like the amoxicillin that closed my airway And crab legs with butter that make my stomach turn, Delicious and deadly, Closing my airway, I feel like I’m suffocating in my own delusions. I thought I’d be excited to age, I thought I’d be taller and thinner and wear hot pink and go to house parties. I thought I’d be able to feel myself get older and happier, But I still see myself as the little girl who dreamed of what high school would be like, And how it would be to feel freedom blowing against my face for the first time.

I believe I am still excited to grow up. I’ll be a beautiful woman at 30. I’ll be happy and healthy at 40, And at 50 and 60 I’ll let the gray weeds in my hair take over my scalp and embrace every wrinkle with grace. Maybe I am lying to myself again, I might get there and want Botox and hair dye, And fret over how much moisturizer I used in my 20s. All I know is I’m not ready to move on yet. My teenage dreams lay unfulfilled Between used face masks and pages of the letters I’ve never sent, Collecting dust in a file cabinet labeled ‘what could’ve been.’

J a i l a

[As The Years Go By] J a s m i n e

Her small arms reach out to me. The corners of her lips lifted up in a little smile. I squat down and gaze into her naïve face. I look into her eyes and see innocence. I see life. I see a baby girl, itching to try everything. Jittering with excitement at seeing the world. I reach down and scoop up the bundle of happiness into my arms. She grips my hands tightly as we spin on the ice. The skates slide smoothly as we twirl faster. Her long dark hair streams out behind her. I hold on for dear life. I can remember ten years ago when she was a little bundle of giggles. Now she is a spunky fifth grader, always wanting an adventure. I look into her eyes and see mischief, and glee. A girl happy and free. We dance as one on the ice. Her hands fly to her mouth as she exits the house. Sitting in the driveway is the car she’d always dreamed of. She finally got what she wanted, and just in time for her 18th birthday. She flings her arms around my neck in gratitude. I look into her glistening eyes and see a young woman, ready to experience the world. With all of its trials and tribulations. I hand her the keys and she dances to the driver’s seat. Tears blur my vision as I watch her walk down the aisle. White flowers in her hair, clad in a white gown and veil. She walks with confidence. A big smile on her face. Her steps are small and giddy as she walks towards her companion. She 20

finally makes it and takes his hand in hers. I look into her eyes and see a strong capable woman, ready for a relationship and a family. They kiss, and I smile at my daughter and son. She sits in the bed, cradling the newborn in her arms. It’s a boy, a big healthy baby. After all the labor and waiting, he’s finally here. She looks tired and pale, but still beautiful and radiant. I look into her eyes and see a mother, ready to do anything to protect her child. She places him in my arms, and he opens his eyes. They’re blue, like hers. My mother often said that I was an adventurous child. I guess I still am in a way, even now with a baby to tend to. She always loves to come over to see me and her grandson. He is currently sitting in his crib, cooing and cawing. I smile at my baby. I look into his eyes and see innocence. I see life. I see a baby boy, itching to try everything.

[Witches] K .

N i c k e l

and I watched them burn in the middle of the night Glowing from the previous day And said that I’d let the witches die And watch as they spin me a letter Of things that I know that I can’t see and watch it unravel and come undone as I told you a story Of faith and blank slate walls what they take advantage of and use Like how the smells of the chemicals and of the colours in the paint Enter and taint their minds Stain their minds until it’s all that you know All that you can see Because it’s all that I know and all that I can see But no I won’t say That I’ve been feeling fake and I’ve been in pain and I’m so ashamed of myself And all I’m trying to say is That my body’s been breaking And my skin has been flaking And my mind has been Aching 22

Oh, it’s too much for me to understand Understand And there’s a lot of noise in here There’s a lot of toys in here There’s a lot of boys in here And I don’t know what it means And there’s movement in the corner As they share stains with each other And I can’t see it enough To try and face it Because it sets something out of place And it’s wrong that I don’t enjoy it if I’m supposed to And why it’s not a thing that I’d ever ever want I swore That the last time I’d feel it was The last time I’d see you and I don’t understand I don’t understand At all How to act how they think But I don’t know how they think How I think I can be As if it was more than I am But it’s too much And it spills And it stains Until it’s something that you can see That I don’t like it That I’m not happy And it’s night And they’re burning Without me 23

A white wine Stain on my sweater Stained my mind And I don’t know what you’re saying When you say we’re not the same But we’re not the same As we used to be A white wine stain on my sweater And I miss you But it’s not you, it’s me I’m talking to myself a white wine stain Talking about my mind I miss my mind It’s not the same There’s movement in the corner And I can’t breathe and there’s movement in the corner That I can’t see A white wine Stain on my sweater Stained my mind Heart and soul A white wine Stain on my sweater Stained my mind and again, it’s night, and again, they’re burning, and again, it’s without me. 24

[The One Reliable Thing] L L I walked down the hall, the empty hall. I could hear the chatter of kids behind the closed classroom doors. “Indigo St Marie please return to class,” my name blasted through the loudspeakers, letting everyone know that I wasn’t in class; not that they would care. Nobody cared; you’d think I’d be used to it by now. But I’m not…So I start to run, run out of being ignored, out of carelessness, out of where I used to belong. When I reached the bus stop, I’m out of breath. I quit track once she was gone, I quit a lot of things once she was gone. When the bus comes pulling up I hop on, the driver looks at me expectantly, I dig in my pocket and hand him my bus pass. He gives it back without a word, as usual. The bus is crowded for midday so I stand by the door, my hand on the pole, the vibrations of the bus running up my arm. “Buses, cars, trucks, planes, trains; no matter which one you take, it will take you somewhere. Whether you’re running away from something or towards something they move you physically and emotionally.” When she said this, we had been sitting on a bench waiting for the city bus. It had been raining like crazy, pouring down and not stopping. She was like that, with bursts of inspiration just out of nowhere. Always saying the weirdest things, always knowing what to say. That was my second favorite memory of her, and this was my first. We were 14, her brother had just gotten his license and decided to take us on a road trip. We had stopped at this little old cemetery where me and her began to walk around, after a while we found this one headstone that said, ‘Maryjane Honer Grezenski 1914-1929’ and underneath that ‘To be happy is one 25

impossible task.’ We both sat there, staring at it when she said, “Do you know what the only reliable thing on this planet is? It’s death. No matter what, we are all gonna die whether it’s one person or the human race as a whole; we will die,” She didn’t notice when I turned to look at her. She was the sun in my world and I was the moon. She was shining bright and I was just watching, like the moon looking at the blinking lights in all those houses. I didn’t know where I was going but I did know one thing: I wasn’t running towards, I was running from. Because maybe she took her own life, but she won’t take mine. By the time the bus had stopped for the third time it was almost empty, I walked over to one of the empty seats in the middle and plopped down, exhausted. But one thing’s for sure: today is my eighteenth birthday, and I am free to leave. To leave everyone, everything, and everywhere I used to belong.

[love] l o v e love. love is a word. love can mean many things. love can relate to being happy. love can relate to being sad. love can be a spiral of emotions. love can be its own special feeling. but when i say “i love” i mean it. when i say i love someone i mean they are my world. when i say i love someone i mean i’d do anything to see them smile. when i say i love someone its true. love makes me feel amazing and well, loved but love does not just do good things. love can cause pain. love can burn worse than fire on your skin. love has a knife that will stab your back over and over. love can leave a wound worse than a bullet. love can kill. some people will kill for love. love is a drug. people get addicted to it. love is more addictive than sugar, nicotine or alcohol. love can make someone high. love can make someone low. love can break a heart. love can mend a heart. maybe that’s why i need love. maybe i need it to mend my broken heart, or maybe i just crave it. 27

maybe it’s too late and i’m already addicted. love; a feeling every person is addicted to. love is humanity’s weakness. without love we wouldn’t be human. love is a beginning and an end. love is love. it’s just love. love has the power to create lives and the power to take them away. love.

[Going Dark] L u c a

F o x

[little ghost] m a r a

d e n m o n - b a i l e y

The sun set on another pale, gloomy day. Now it was time for the ghosts to play. Dancing around, having fun. Not having to deal with the heat of the sun. But one little ghost did not understand. What made the sun so bland? It was delightful wherever the sun shone. Now all the little ghost could do was groan. The image of ghosts dancing in the moonlight was like a movie. The little ghost should love hanging out with his friends. But he missed the joys that life offered. On nights like these, he likes to walk in the city. The city offers the smell of food, people, and excitement. He likes to watch people enjoy life. Sometimes he’ll dance along with the people that stand too close to feel comfortable. Sometimes he’ll watch the man asking for money on the corner of the street. Even if it’s a sad scene, it’s life. And it makes the little ghost feel alive again.

[Sun and Stars] When the sun rises in the morning and the dew evaporates off the grass I will hold your face in my hands and tell you, you’re beautiful When the sun falls below the hills and the stars peek out from the clouds I’ll hold you close and tell you, you’re lovely

M e r c e d e s

[grey] isolated kiss broke my heart. adopted insecurity, imaginative. take me apart. there was no us. am I just a fool? simply a body for lust? fog lays over fields of silk, sorrow. ignore pain, persisting, time so desperately i borrow. whispered to me, you deserved so much better. tragic, same as the rest. another bruise to be swallowed. P a d e n

G e d d i n g s

[“Do you want to stay with me under the stars tonight?”] p a t r i c i a

c .

your smile was lavender scented lips the shape of infinity, scrawled out in tiny letters of “good morning, how are you?” the promises you keep tucked into your fists of gold with skin as soft as melted butter on a perfectly toasted sourdough slice we sat in the grass humid from the evening rain with the dancing dewdrops that sparkled in your eyes until they ran down your face and stained your beige sweater with a damp shadow i didn’t ask because we are merely strangers a face in an endless hallway the crescendo of piano keys before they come to a slamming halt 33

i waited for you to leave because the sweetest illusion would be that you feel it too beating in our chests filling our lungs coloring our rosy cheeks with the hope that somewhere we could be more than just a face in the endless hallway and the crescendo of piano keys that mimic our skipping hearts but then your lavender scented smile returned and the dewdrops in your eyes sparkled like fireflies in the ocean of uncertainty and when you leaned in your breath tickled my ear as you whispered…

[Purple Playful Flowers] P e y t o n

L i n g o

Purple playful flowers, swaying in the wind, dropping small purple petals, leaving color in the grass, providing seeds for new growth, making the air smell sweet and sugary. Children collect these flowers, making small beautiful bouquets. These flowers sit in homes and leave smiles on faces. The purple playful flowers make the world even more bright.

s a g e

[harmonies of life] b l e d s o e

A dragonfly lands on the bridge of my nose. At first I was terrified. The cream beneath my freckles turning to pink, like the cherry blossoms trees on my street. I stare down at it as it stares up at me. We stay like that for a while. The sun is glaring at my back but I pay it no mind. I am too focused on the creature that has pricked my nose, just as Aurora was with the needle of the spindle. The world around us continues on. The wind brushing past me, children playing in the sand pit and on the swings of a nearby playground. Dogs barking at pedestrians that walk a little too close to their homes. None of which scare the dragonfly and so I didn’t let any of it startle me either. I continue to examine the little creature. Its wings glistened with excess morning dew. A waterfall of colors flows innocently through its veins. I’ve never seen a life force so close before, not even another human. I don’t think I will ever see something up so close again. And maybe that’s okay. The warmth in my cheeks has not gone away. Although, it has dimmed to a light rose color. (The kind flower gardens and valentines day.) I am not nearly as scared or worried anymore. This little creature has become a comfort to me, even in just a few seconds. Reassuring me that things will work out in the end. Reminding me of the beauty in this life that I had forgotten. Though, as you must know by now beauty doesn’t last forever. It hovered for a moment, studying me. And as it flies away into the afternoon sky, I play with the idea that it was saying goodbye. And I smile.

[and we were willows] S e n e c a willow leaves reach out, bestowing damp sunset kisses across your forehead. i rest in the crook of your arm, listening to your quiet heartbeat steady like the branches we climbed back when the world seemed much too large. chipped nail polish fingers grasping wood as we climbed until it was just us, and the sky. deep belly laughs, we perched, like birds, letting the sunrise caress our cheeks. it was there, when you whispered into the wind your words misty and unsteady but never unsure, you declared that you were in love with 37

me and the trees. for they had held us together when we could not, gave us something to grasp when the sun no longer bid good morning and storms rooted in the gaps between our ribs. they listened as we wept, rainfall light, as petrichor swirled across our tongues. they sat with us until the sun finally arose. it is now that our hearts and willow leaves live in concinnity as our bark wrinkles and we age like rings. it is now that we lay here in this world that is much too small, waiting patiently for the trees to take us home.

[untitled] s o p h i a She writes poems for the ones she loves, Dissecting a relationship’s layers And peeling back its jovial skin, But she is not a poet, She prefers observer Noticing tiny shifts in tones and twitches in eyes Or recorder Like an old camera Stuttering out grainy film, But she is not a poet, Her mind is intrusive And she holds her mouth shut Instead of plucking the unripened words from her thoughts So that she could throw the words at you, Leaving bruises across your skin Where their callow exclamations hit for you to remember her by, She knows that wouldn’t be effective Because she is not a poet, So she holds her words, Their heavy bodies forming dents in her hands while they grow ripe, And when she finally hands them to you, Sweet and mature, A story-like confession, You cannot help but think That she is a poet

[Her Odd “Dream”] S t a r

W i l s o n

The Basement’s Mystery Door Lacy had just gotten home after getting a book from the town’s local library with her early birthday money, Lacy’s fourteenth birthday was in two days! She was a very bubbly and entertaining girl, her hair was a bright orange like a soft sunset, her eyes green like emeralds, she had lots of friends and was top of her whole school. Now back to present time; Lacy had just entered her front door holding a small yellow bag, she was taking her matcha green sneakers off waiting for her small dog, Scout, to come running up to her with a small squeaking toy in his mouth ready to play fetch but no, no dog and no noise. This surprised Lacy because it was about 2:00 pm, Scout usually took a nap at 4:00. “Scout! Want a treat?” She yelled but no response at all. “Mom? Dad?” Lacy stood at the front doorway in confusion. She shut the door behind her, then went up stairs and looked in the living room, kitchen, bedrooms, and guest room, the whole time calling out to her parents, she stopped and got a glass and filled it with water and was about to take a sip when some big crash happened, sounding as if it was coming from the basement. Lacy opened the door and turned on the light, then slowly shut the door behind her. She looked around the basement in confusion then realized the small wooden door with a silver handle. The door was wide open and inside was pitch black, but the light was turned on. Suddenly when Lacy was about to get closer to the door it slammed shut and the light started flickering! Lacy looked up in shock at the light then heard a bunch of voices! Small and big, weak and strong, old and young, happy and scared! Lacy ran up the stairs and reached 40

for the door knob but she was too scared! She was shaking in fright! She finally got a hold of it and slammed the door open then ran for the basement key, she got the key and locked the basement unaware of her surroundings. She slid down the basement door and tucked her head in her knees, with her hands covering her ears. “Was that real?” “Magic? No… Magic isn’t real…” “Does that have anything to do with my parents?!?” She was so scared she couldn’t keep her thoughts in her head at all! Every moment of her life coming back to her at this moment! Still in the huddled position she cried, she pulled her head up to look around. She then looked out a window and realized the time. She stood up in shock and checked the clock. It read 2:21, that didn’t make sense… It was pitch black outside! She couldn’t handle any of this and zoomed out the front door and ran across the street to her neighbors’ house and started banging on the door and ringing the doorbell! A middle aged woman wearing a nightgown opened the door with a tired and annoyed expression on her face. She was about to say something until she saw Lacy, She calmed down then quietly remarked “Oh… C-Come on in dear…” Lacy then zoomed in the door and slammed it shut! She urged the woman to lock it, “Please lock it! Put the code in Ms. Rangers!” Ms. Rangers rushed to enter the code as Lacy quietly squirmed. Ms. Rangers glared at Lacy, “What… HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?!?! THAT WAS VERY DISRESPECTFUL OF YOU!!!” Lacy was about to cry as Ms. Rangers kept yelling. She shed a tear as Ms. Rangers couldn’t control herself, Ms. Rangers then snapped out of it. “Oh my… I’m sorry… Lacy that was rude of me. My deepest apologies!” 41

Lacy forgave her then started to explain everything. Ms. Rangers stood in shock after hearing Lacy’s story. Ms. Rangers felt more guilt as Lacy started to cry about all of the drama. Ms. Rangers tried to comfort and calm down Lacy as she hugged her. Lacy eventually calmed down and took a deep breath. “It’s quite late. Go up to bed dear!” Ms. Rangers said quietly “But.. What about my parents?.. What am I going to do? Will you help me?!” Lacy said in shock. “We can worry about them tomorrow. Now go up to bed!” Ms. Rangers requested. “Oh.. Okay..” Lacy mumbled. She slowly stepped up the stairs then went up to Ms. Rangers’ daughters’ old room, AKA an old friend of Lacy. She opened the door to her room and looked around, she kneeled in front of a picture of Ms. Ranger’s daughter and Lacy as kids, and Lacy had a flashback of that exact day. “Anna.. I miss you… I want you to come home,” Lacy whispered to herself. She then slowly picked up the picture and hugged it tightly then started to sob. “Why did you leave me? You were my best friend…” Lacy then tried to calm herself down after five minutes, she put the picture back down on the dresser next to her bed and wiped away her tears. Lacy then went over to Anna’s clothes and opened her pajama drawer and it smelled awful! She then looked around and went through every drawer. Then she realized it… This room hasn’t been touched in two years. Lacy got worried that Ms. Rangers hasn’t moved on since Anna’s incident. She then bolted down stairs and looked everywhere downstairs! She checked every room five times at least! She thought she was taking this too far… She calmed down and just figured she could talk Ms. Rangers into therapy. She went upstairs and looked in every single room, still no Ms. Rangers. She then went down stairs one more time just in case 42

she passed Ms. Rangers. She slowly walked down the stairs and made it to the bottom then looked around. She froze. “Anna… IS THAT YOU?!” Lacy said with tears in her eyes. “YES! IT’S ME LACY!” Anna shrieked. Lacy and Anna ran towards each other crying. “I missed you Anna! Where were you?” Lacy questioned “I don’t know.. A forest maybe? But that’s not important, it’s time for you to wake up.” “What?” “Wake up.” Everyone but Lacy joined in. “Wake up.” “Wake up!” “WAKE UP!” Lacy’s eyes bolted open and sat up in her bed. “Finally, you’re up!” said the psychiatric assistant. “What… Where’s Anna?” Lacy questioned the psychiatric assistant. “Lacy.. This is why you’re here. You need to get over the fact that she is gone…” “But she isn’t, I just saw her and her mom, and her parents, and my basement came alive!” “LACY. When will you get over this? We want you to be healthy as soon as possible.” “I am healthy! It’s you and this whole hospital that isn’t.” “Just get up… Breakfast is starting soon, then you have therapy that can’t be late too.” Lacy got up from her bed and followed the psychiatric assistant as the door shut behind her. Well… It’s kinda sad… No one believes her. Of course, that “dream” actually happened. But it’s NOT a dream anymore.

[My Grandmother’s House] Sumi Dyment My grandmother’s house was a place I loved so much as a kid. Her backyard was filled with colorful, vivid flowers. I remember admiring them so much when I was younger with their vibrant colors and appealing looks. It was impossible not to look and the wonderful floral scent had me thinking I was in a field full of daisies on a sunny summer day. But the one thing I will always remember is how the night sky would be in her backyard, oh the sky, the moon would be like the sun light up the dark empty sky. Once you walked inside, my grandmother would give you her welcoming smile and a warm hug. The moment you walked in, right above you was a delicate and elegant chandelier. When the light would hit it just right it would twinkle like the stars in the night sky and it would stand out like the moon, and the beauty of it was indescribable.

[The Phases] N y l a h

crescent moon

[Into]

A b i

C o l l i n s

As I was slowly walking out the door to school, my dad looked at me and chuckled, “Oops I forgot to check the Ashland weather channel; it’s raining out there so don’t forget your coat.” As he handed me my coat, I was ready for another dreary, drowsy day at school. Halfway to school, Elinor approached me and started talking about her evening and how school went. Getting annoyed, I interrupted her saying, “Oh, best friend, why do you have to talk so much? Can’t you be quiet for once.” There was silence for a while, and I was trying to let my frustration out as I already had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a good day. As Elinor and I are turning the corner where the wet and sad looking cedar trees lie, eventually we approach school and our conversation stops. I ask one more question before she leaves, “Wherewhere is the book?” I say a little hesitantly. “What book?” she asks. I shouted at her, “Come on, you know what I’m talking about!” “No I don’t,” she says with a smirk on her face. “The one in my father’s library everyone at school is blabbering about.” Finally confronting the truth, she says, “Okay, I know what you’re talking about. But you’re going to have to find Into on your own, sorry.” As we parted ways to our first period I thought about how I’m going to get the wonderful book that I’ve heard about, that apparently turns people’s dreams into realities. Does my father know about the book? It’s in his library. He should know about it right? These questions made me intrigued, so I’ve decided on the whole to devise a plan to get that book. 48

[The Phases of the Moon] A d d i s o n

M .

When I was three I would see the moon the big sky When I was six I would fix my vision on the dark and gloomy sky When I was 9 I would tie my laces in the dark For now I’m 12 and can notice the beautiful crescent moon Now I can see the amazing Phases Of the Moon

[Phasing With the Moon] A v e r y

S h o e m a k e r

I am part of the moon Or at least I think I am It’s the only place or thing I’ve ever known I sit on a dune of stardust watching But never knowing I wish I wish I wasn’t Here I watch stars explode and implode And rockets launched into orbit I wish I wish I wasn’t Here I will never know relief, sorrow, Happiness Because I am here Alone On the moon Phasing with it

[Cherry Blossom Stray Cats] b l u s h y

[Hysteria] A y d e n

B o r g o y n e

It’s the bitter taste of licorice when it grazes your tongue the scent of smoke, as it fills the air during a blistering summer evening it’s the color of a bird that you spy upon before everyone screams “bloody murder”. The feeling of loneliness as you saunter into a dark desolate room as frigid marbles slide down your spine it’s the association of fear, as the squid uses the color of ink to retreat back to the vast unbarred ocean. Black is the color of innumerable different feelings of risk, guilt, and sadness although it can cause recessions, it is often the best stimulant for contentment. Black is Time’s sibling “The end”; without it, there would be no Time.

[Inner Workings] L u c a

F o x

[Untitled] C e d e r

K e n d a l l

Shil slipped out of bed not bothering to fix his messy brown hair. Shil was a clumsy boy who can never get through the day with nothing going wrong. He walked down the stairs, the floorboards creaking under his bare feet. Shil continued out the door. “Good,” he said under his breath, “No tripping over rocks, no falling downstairs the per-” Suddenly he dropped to the ground mud splattering over his face. A red hen looked down at him, almost mocking him. “Stupid chicken,” he muttered. Shil dusted the dirt off his brown capris and headed to town with a basket in hand. Saturday was the worst day for the town folks. Two towns ladies were outside the bread shop spreading rumors as usual going about with their daily chores. “Shil’s coming to town today,” one muttered to the other. The second woman was Mrs. Finely. A sour woman, it’s hard to tell if she is a lady or a shriveled raisin. Mrs. Finely shook her head. “Disaster always follows with that boy.” “OH HI, MRS. FINELY!” Shil hollered through the streets and her face went blank. Both of the ladies of the town ran into their house slamming the door behind them. Shil proceeded down through the town, trampling over nicely trimmed lawns, stumbling over the flower beds and tripping over rocks. Yes, it was very known wherever Shil went disaster followed. All the stores in the small town had a closed sign over them except for one. A small sign hung above the entrance. It read “Store for the unwanted.” The sign was hanging from one string and the store itself looked deserted. A fat man stood in the entrance. wore brown overalls and had shagged brown hair; lips looking as if they would explode. “Well hello there son,” The fat storekeeper said to Shil. 54

“I’ve been expecting you, the townspeople said you’re quite the problem,” Shil nodded, starting his way into the store. He didn’t need much, just some chicken feed and a loaf of bread. Shil looked to his right, noticing most of the townsfolk were gathering under a gazebo. “What’s that?” Shil said, pointing to the gathering. The storekeeper’s blood went cold as if he was hiding something. “Don’t go over there,” He said, his hands clutching the few dollars bills more tightly now. Shil nodded, not too alarmed from the encounter. People were always looking at him like that after he blew up a building when he was 6. It was only an accident and he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but for some reason he did. Ever since that day, people tended to keep a distance. Slamming doors in his face, hiding their children. I suppose some days this made Shil rather sad, never being able to be a normal boy. But unlike most people, Shil was brave despite being hated. Shil pushed through the days as if nothing was wrong when in fact, everything was wrong; every single thing in his life was wrong. No matter how hard he tried he would always mess things up but for some odd reason he kept trying. The townspeople hated this, because the more he tried, the more disaster followed. And on this particular night, the townsfolk decided they were going to do something horrible. Something despicably horrible. In fact, if I said what they were doing I might just have a heart attack. Shil acted like nothing was wrong. Yes this was a sad fact, but inside, his heart was slowly cracking from always feeling alone. It was in Shil’s mind if he had just tried to be nice everything would be ok. But that will never happen for Shil. Never. Shil knew of the hatred that the townspeople had. Shil had the plan to march into town and surrender to the townspeople. Some might say this was a sad event that Shil might just bring out that revolver stored in the cabinet next to the sink behind the cans and in the hole in the wall. Yes, Shil was ready to surrender. Shil was tired of living, tired of messing things up, and was tired of his own life. Shil trotted into town, revolver in hand, clutching it tighter and 55

tighter as he made his fingers sore. But once he got to the town, he felt a warmth wash over him. Flames crested his eyes. While Shil was away, a fire had sprung up with no warning. The revolver clanked to the ground, the thudding ringing in his ears. Normally he would run. Normally he would hide. Normally he would act dumb, but a rage blew up from inside, a side no one had seen before. Shil closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Small tears appeared in his eyes as he rushed into the fire. A red glow glistened on his face as he covered his nose and mouth with his arms. “HELP!” a little girl cried from behind the hall. For a moment he hesitated, for a moment he thought of turning back but instead, he scooped up the girl, rushing her out of the flames. While Shil was in the fire the whole town had been watching. “Let me go!” A mother screamed as the townspeople held her back. “My baby girl!” she yelled as she struggled to get free. The people watched with fear as the fire arose in front of their eyes. A few moments later Shil ran out of the fire, the girl scooped over his shoulder. His skin was covered in ash, and burn marks bombarded his body. Shil fell to the ground at his last breath. The townsfolk looked at each other with sadness wondering what to do, if they should do anything at all. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!” a man called out from the crowd. There he was, the fat storekeeper had shown up to help Shil. A man nodded at another before running over to Shil. The doctor accompanied him along with two other townsfolk. They laid him down on Mrs. Finelys’s nicely trimmed lawn. Her eyes went wide as she imagined all the pieces of grass slowly bent into an unpleasing look. “Wait!” she yelled out all of a sudden, “Maybe we should lay him on Mrs. Huchan’s lawn.” “No, here is fine,” the doctor said, glancing away from her. As people huddled around him and Mrs. Finely scowled, it almost looked like a small smile spread across Shil’s face. 56

[Umoya: Creation Myth] E l a n a

S h a e

The sky was everything, unbreaking in its blue expanse, and it was alone. Awake, it watched over an empty domain. But when it slipped into sleep the sky dreamt of every possible wonder. After eons of solitude, the sky dreamt of something apart from its previous visions; sound. When it woke, it brought its dream into reality with a newfound voice, the wind, and thus the silence pervading existence was broken. The sky used its voice to sing of all it had imagined. First was the song of clouds, giants that drifted into being upon the back of the wind, forming low valleys of white and billowing peaks of pitch. Next was the song of rain. Thousands of droplets descended from the new pastures and mountains, bringing with them thunder and lightning which danced within the peaks of the tallest clouds. Last came the song of dandelions. A single dandelion seed floated into reality in the embrace of a breeze. It landed in the center of the universe, and when hit with a drop of rain, the seed sprouted roots that dug deep into the clouds and hollowed out tunnels lined with crystal raindrops waiting to fall. As the roots grew, so too did the flower’s leaves. The wind snapped two from the stem, and when the sky sang of life they folded into the shapes of all creatures and plants. The dandelion grew until no cloud could reach its summit and its stem became as wide as a forest, and at its top bloomed a crown of white tufts. They caught on the wind and dispersed amongst the clusters of clouds. From their seeds emerged the First People, humankind. Everything brimmed with color and life as the sky sang 57

the songs of creation, and the beings of the universe rejoiced at the sight of it all. But the sky, in all of its infinite dreams, did not foresee a natural product of what it had created. For with life, there is always death. As the years passed, a boy named Iswe grew into a man, and that man slouched into a grey-haired elder. He was known for a kind heart and gentle laugh, but he waned with age. His bones became heavy and the wrinkles on his hands sunk as deep as rivers until he became the first to be greeted by death. All living beings wept at his loss. Every cloud became gray and warmth fell into a deep sleep. The people begged the sky to sing and return him, but it could not, as death was an inseparable reflection of life. So instead the sky sang of tears, of grief, and of peace. A song of swirling wind wrapped around Iswe’s body, and when it cleared nothing was left in its wake. The people were angered and confused before the wind blew once more, and within the sky’s song was the voice of their friend singing sweetly in tandem, gentle as a laugh. And so it was that death was not the end of life, but a welcome into the song of the sky, a chorus of all those who have passed that sings together, in harmony, eternally.

[the stillness] I a n

L a f o n t a i n e

i wither slowly in thine arms. Here in this rotting wood In this decaying shed One summer’s day, Leaping over tree stumps A forager saw this shack A heap of broken woods Wrought with fruitless vines Sprouting half-bloomed thorns. Inside, atop a crooked shelf A jar of flesh sat Tithonus here, millenia old Has not seen daylight for a hundred years He has sunken below the grave Forever dying, with a little patience. “What happened to you?” the silence the stillness “They killed me.” “Hm? “You seem quite alive to me “What happened to you?” the silence The flame does not extinguish The smoke rises forever 59

drip drop drip drop drip drop burning drip drop drip drop world without end “They’re still killing me, yet “I’ve not been undone to death.” (O Lord thou pluckest me out) “I feared like you, and now I have nothing to fear anymore.” (O Lord thou pluckest me out) (O Lord thou pluckest) The forager shook a confused look off his face, And there was a great silence in these spaces. “What do you mean?” (oh you who rule the sky, I’ve done all I can, thou pluckest me out) Lidless eyes on the verge of tears (oh you who turn the wheel of fate) (thou pluckest me out) (thou pluckest) yet nothing. eloi eloi lama sabachthani nothing. “Why do you say nothing? “Do you know nothing? “Do you feel nothing anymore?” (I came from dust but did not return) “Are you living? Are you dead? Or are you “Nothing?” Tithonus did not speak 60

But there he was Once as handsome as you Now a jar of rotted flesh, Sitting savagely still. He has forgotten the clamor of Troy And the voice of his father He now knows only The rotted wood and moss, and The stuffy scent of fogged glass, and the stench of his own corpse, the stillness (O Hades, Zeus,— Christ, Brahma , , , thou pluckest me out) nothing again nothing. The forager glimpsed into the glass He did not see a man He saw something else No longer human A stew of what once Cast the same shadow as he Undone to a half-dead Jar of clotted fragments Strung by thoughtless threads, forgotten Within these long bygone ruins. Unreal “Why won’t you ever speak? “What do you want? “What is it?” “I want to die.” 61

[Starcatching] I n k e d

T r a g e d i e s

There once was a girl whose eyes were full of galaxies milky ways that turned slowly in her gaze but people have a love of stars and greed runs in blood So one by one they came and stole away the glittering pricks they left clutching a star heedless as she silently cried a spot in her galaxy empty They all went star catching but she just needed someone who went stargazing

[Moons and Maniacs] L u c i

D .

[Untitled] I R I’m so tired. Exhausted even. But I think sleep is beyond me now. I look out my window to see the moon looking down at me with a crescent of a smile, simply happy to have company at such an hour. Since an attempt to sleep would be a lost cause at this point, I grab some tea and sit by my window. We hold a conversation, and although one-sided, it is one of the better conversations I’ve had in a while. I tell the moon about all my interactions and struggles here on Earth. People are difficult, and the moon continues smiling its crescent smile, but I take it as a sign of understanding. I talk with the moon like this often, or at least when I can. Then, cutting off my words, the universe, or probably something bigger, flips the switch from night to day and our conversation will have to be continued another night. “Until next time,” I say. The birds sing a morning song.

[practice makes perfect] I see him, bouncing his ball, Up, down, up, down then shoot, Straight to touch the stars, Always missing, Never giving up. It seems he’s out there, in the street, With the fading shades of sunset, For eternity. Up, down, up, down. And I wonder, does he count the times he’s bounced his ball, Must be millions and billions and trillions. Up, down, up down, Always missing, Never giving up.

i s a b e l

[our moon waned to crescent]

l e o n

how to say love in so little words. in whispers in letters in hand touching. sneaking out past midnight staring at the sky glancing at the moon in an attempt to fill the void maybe she could give us an answer but she just smiles. she can smell the beers on you yearning to criticize our feelings but she turns around. she wanes to crescent and the new moon arises as if she’s smarter than the last. perhaps this time she’ll stop us

[ A P l a c e To L o v e Myself] M a h a l i a A place to love myself A place to know I am beautiful A place to believe I am not ugly A place to know I do not have to try I do not have to try to impress I do not have to try to look perfect Because I am beautiful. The people that say otherwise Are wrong, The people that say otherwise Do not know me enough to judge me. A place to love myself Because I am beautiful My body is not ugly or fat I am so much more than how I look on the outside A place to know A place to believe I. Am. Enough.

[Moonlit Scars] M a h a l i a

Moonlit scars on the little stuffed bear’s face. The stuffed bear—Fiji—walked around the sloppy wet streets of Portland. He made sure he stayed in the shadows, just like his human—Zoey—just to keep safe. He found a bench and crawled under it, making sure he didn’t touch the gum on the bottom. He looked up at the half moon, and thought of Zoey. She had scars in various places because of all her surgeries. The seven-year-old had sewn stitches in Fiji, because she wanted someone to look like her. Fiji looked down at his belly and saw the painless scars, and remembered the crocodile tears streaming down Zoey’s face, her mom by her side, comforting her and sewing more stitches onto Fiji. He looked back at the moon and remembered the feeling of Zoey’s arms around him and her face buried in his fuzz. How he wished he could find her. He knew her mom wouldn’t let her roam the streets at night, so he had to. There was no way he would abandon his human. She’d been through too much, three surgeries in two years, multiple procedures in her seven years of life. Fiji wiggled out from underneath the bench, and waddled down the street. He followed the moon, a warming Presence comforting him. Through the course of many days, he followed the moon in the sky, dark or light. He never lost faith, determination leading his feet. Four days had passed. He was covered in mud and gasoline. His fuzz was matted, but his faith never faltered. Still following the moon, he turned a familiar corner, walking on a sidewalk filled with dead grass and rusty lawn chairs along each house. He walked the length of it and came to a dead end. There it was! The house that brought joy to the entire block. The driveway was covered in sidewalk chalk masterpieces. Zoey’s flower drawings and chalk handprints were smeared on the tires of her mom’s silver minivan. Fiji looked up at the street lamp in front of the bushes and saw a ‘missing bear’

sign. It was him. He wondered how long it had taken Zoey to realize that she had left him on the slide at the playground. Just as he turned around to face the front door, the door opened. He flopped on the ground as a pair of pink and silver twinkle toe shoes hopped down the steps. Zoey squealed with delight as Fiji felt the sticky, paint-covered hands grab him up and hug him tight. Zoey called for her mom, and her crocodile tears fell on Fiji’s scars; he smelled the little girl’s blonde hair – he’d always thought that it smelled like strawberries and chocolate, with a hint of mischief. Zoey’s mom rushed outside alarmed, she thought something was wrong. But as soon as she saw her daughter holding her best friend, she picked Zoey up, balanced her on her hip, and hugged them both. Fiji drank up the stories Zoey told him, about how she had her first procedure without him, and how she put finger paint on the ‘missing’ signs her Mom hung. Fiji was excited for the bath he was gonna get, but he learned a valuable lesson in those four days…the only reason he was there was because of Zoey. He needed Zoey, Zoey needed him. Who else would be there when she got stitches? Who would be the inspiration for Zoey’s career much later in life? As Zoey grew, she learned that her scars were not something to hide, she and Fiji would show their scars as signs of strength, a testimony of their faith , and that you have to be a little afraid to be brave. Zoey soon grew up (much too fast for Fiji’s liking) to be the founder of ‘Brave Scars’, a program that brought stuffed animals to children going through surgeries and procedures. She taught those children about her life, and that their scars were something to be proud of. She eventually grew old, with a loving husband, five children of her own and six grandchildren; her stitches were long gone, but Fiji was still held in her heart. Fiji watched his little human grow old, but she never left him, he was at the top of her closet. She always knew he was there. Fiji knew that his existence was not just for her, it was for any child with scars, physical or emotional. His life was to bring scars to stars. 69

[Prolonged Thought] M y s t

M o r g a n

If you think about anything for long enough it begins to unravel. Perhaps logic is a myth, Only created to give the illusion of form, Illusion of structure, To keep us from slipping into insanity. Some things are better not to think about. Is it unhealthy to force yourself to ignore? But thinking hurts too much. I certainly don’t need the burden of anxiety Prolonged thought brings. But what’s even the point of thought? It’s not like I could change anything anyway. I can’t even fix what’s placed directly in my hands. Why do I think I can fix the world? Why do I think I should fix the world? For now I won’t think. I can’t let myself think. Thought brings nothing but frustration And hopelessness. Wrapped up in plotlines outside of my control. Maybe someday I’ll learn how to think. I’ll learn to accept what I cannot control. I’ll be able to be satisfied with small victories And little changes. I’ll be able to finally enjoy thought.

[An Old House] N o r a

V a n R e e s

it was an old house at the end of the road, its paint was peeling off, faded roses bloomed in the front yard, a breath of white against the wet green grass, a willow tree swaying in the pale moonlight.

[A Late Night] M a r y e l l e

W a t e r h o u s e

[is it ash or is it snow?] grimy syringes administered, the boilers bleed. I don’t know if we are alive yet. lifeless shells, lay waste for who we plead. scabs and muck cover my wounds. a stray child, tumors, and crudes. lingering scent of all that is ill. drain the waste, drown the thrill. prisonic fairytale, do we rot? promise that I’ll make it out. decay, do the memories clot? will I be remembered? cries won’t be met without, another pill, a collection of leather. ordinary vanity of who that remains. it was only wishful thinking. apart of flesh and bones, a soul that sustains.

P a d e n

G e d d i n g s

[fragment] p a t r i c i a you are but a fragment a moment in time when you are nothing but a streetlight that i drive by past the place where our hands didn’t meet and your lips were an unforgiving line of tired goodbyes and half hearted replies a mirrorball of memories when a moment in time you were everything the leaking rain on my parched skin where once it shined with a rosy hue of blushing petals set to flower in spring to a yellow traffic light flashing a flustered red as i stop and dim myself under your shadow you are a reflective shard a sharpened end 74

c .

of a broken mirror in a moment where a shattered life was held together by an ever-lovely jewel whose shimmer ineptly mirrored your selfish desperation to be anything more than but a fragment in my life

[Phases of the moon] P a y t o n

W o o d s

The moon comes out every night but a half-moon doesn’t. Half moons are special, different you could say, even if only half is missing. I have heard stories about things happening every half-moon. Just like me. A long time ago I was playing hopscotch outside when my friend said that night was going to be a half-moon. I stayed up till nine to watch and see the moon, then I heard sirens and that’s all I remember. I thought I was dreaming but I wasn’t, and I woke up to some surprising place with monkeys the size of ladybugs and ladybugs the size of birds. Little monkeys grabbed my leg. Where was I? I asked myself over and over. This place was surely not home but could have easily been a dream, I thought, trying to comfort myself. So I pinched myself and it hurt. I was awake. I felt almost no gravity, at least not like the earth’s gravitational pull. In the distance, I saw a little town. With lots of pretty lights and people bustling through what seemed to be a city. As I got closer and closer heading for the little town it kept getting smaller and smaller. I felt like I, too, was shrinking. The town was still a little down the road but I got close to a little house that felt like home. I knocked on the door. To a little girl who answered it. She seemed very generous. A little after her mom slowly came behind peeking her head out and pulling her daughter behind her. She grinned and said, “I wasn’t expecting you to be here so soon, especially not at this hour,” as if she was expecting me. She told me to come inside for a cup of tea. On the table was a nicely placed tea kettle with a plate full of little blueberry biscuits. I took a seat trying to understand what was happening. The little girl ran towards me with 76

her little stuffed frog. Which she carried everywhere. She came up and gave me a hug and said, “You’re the best sissy ever.” Her mom then said, “Oh honey, that’s sweet.” Me, her sister? I had never seen that girl in my whole life but yet I still felt comfortable around her. The mom tucked the little girl into bed and came and sat down at the tea-table with me. There was an awkward silence. Until she finally said something. She said, “I’m surprised you even showed up, I thought you would decline our invitation. I haven’t seen you in fourteen years, oh how you have grown.” Then she went on, “You see fourteen years ago you lived here happily with me on the moon, then our city went to war with a mean and feisty city who wanted war, they burned down houses and enslaved people. To protect you, I sent you in a pod to an Earth orphanage hoping one day on a halfmoon you would return. Our people from the moon can only come back from the earth every half-moon, but they must be awake. I thought I would never see you again so I adopted a little girl named Alice to raise. That’s why I was so surprised to see you,” She then burst into tears. I asked her if this was true and she said yes hugging me. I was finally home.

[him] As night became day, he started to understand the truth. As the stars faded and the sun rose, it began to make sense. As the sky turned from black to orange, the pieces fell into place. As much as it hurt, he understood. Understood that It was him all along. p i p

A P l a c e To L o v e Myself M a h a l i a

[Flowers] T h e s e u s A flower blossoms. Letting everyone know that winter is over. Except.. this is not summer? it’s winter still, the other flowers are resting but i cannot sleep again. it is winter and i should not be blooming. what did i do wrong? why cant i fix it? no matter what i do it’s still winter and it will be till it’s not. it’s frustrating and upsetting but i just need to face it, summer is soon, i just need to make it

[quarter glass] t h u y

c h a u

(0:15:00) sand running through a narrow path, a fastidious and eye-catching mystique, teasing its merciless flow, racing to inform me of the possibility, that no one will ever get to see you again. that i must find you. (0:13:49) i race through the front door, that’s never willing to close without a hard shove and lock, leaving the door ajar for once, and run. my feet tear away at the gravel and concrete, each contact point giving a quick “hi,” then festering into a passionate war, that my toes begin to curl, and my feet tensing up. alas i continue running. (0:05:25) running to the forest, the moon no longer illuminating my journey, obstructed by a thick canopy, leaving me vulnerable in the shade, alone. my clumsy step around the branches and vines, 81

colliding with the trees; so many, knees falling so hard it almost cracks the ground, i decide to stop for a minute. (00:04:16) only that was a foolish idea. i was told that when my glass turned around, i would have to find someone before all the sand fell to the other bulb. so in a haste i left trying to find you, only i guess in too much of a haste, negligent to read who to find, or where to find you, jumping out to dilly dally in the wrong direction. now you’ll disappear to thin air, while i walk bearing the weight of your life, because i simply didn’t care enough, to read. the. instructions. (00:01:01) “are you there?!” i sit screaming in my last despair, unsure of the remaining time, hoping that out of all the places i could’ve gone, this would be the right one. (00:00:06) only i have come to realize that it was not, sheepishly on the muddy ground, head resting to my knees, i have given up. whoever you are, i sincerely ap-

[The Subject] T o k u m e i

N o

S a k u s h a

“Ambassador Visen,’’ the Esin spoke sternly, as I hadn’t responded to her previous telepathic messages. “Yes, Gitaro?” I replied quietly, still focusing on my console. “We have found a subject that is compatible with your neurodynamics,” she informed. Despite it being good news she was hesitant in her words and thoughts. “Good,” I thought simply. “And what is the nature of the subject?” I hoped that it wouldn’t be anyone important, it would cause an uprising in the Terrans that may jeopardize the mission. “A female, age twelve, named Azalea Mizu. she lives in the ‘downtown’ area of Vancouver, Washington State, United States of America,” I looked to her with concern, “Female? Are you sure a female will be biologically compatible enough?” I asked her. “Positive,” she assured. But still she looked at me with a face of hesitance and concern. Although she hid her true emotions from my mind, I could see on her face that she didn’t want to tell me something, but she knew she had to. Her lips parted, “But there is another problem… the father of Azalea Mizu – Tsuyoi Mizu – is a member of the U.S. Military…” I could tell that my loss of confidence made Gitaro feel distraught, her dark fur shined with the movement of her brows and the tufts of fur on her ear tips bounced as her upper ears moved down, and her lower ears turned back; her mane revealed bits of color as its dark pearlescent fibers followed with her head as her snout tilted down. She was nearly mirroring my expression. “What specific branch of the military is he a part of?” I 83

asked. The culture of the branches were very different from one another, and the threat to our mission would be greater with some parts more than others. I could read that my assistant suddenly felt as though she was underwater, and her uniform was constricting her gills. She loosened the purple collar that indicated her placement in the science division. “Tsuyoi Mizu…” she started hesitantly, indicating to me that this would no doubt be very bad news, “is a member of the E.P.D.D., Earth Perimeter Defense Division. The top secret division was established by Air Force, Space Force, and non-American officers 6 years ago, with the mission to protect Earth from a perceived threat of alien invasion. They have nearly unlimited access to the resources of America, Russia, China, and North Korea, and are completely autonomous,” she said, her voice sounding stern as always but with the undertones of a terrified child. “I share your concern, Gitaro. No doubt this is a result of the Marfuan incident. Although, I don’t see how they could stand a chance against our ship,” I said, not feeling nearly as much confidence as I was projecting. “Because they have a ship of their own, Ambassador.” My face came to match the fear she displayed on hers, just as she had mirrored my expression earlier. “These people are the only part of the U.S. Military we truly have reason to fear.” I set my paws down from their position on the console to the cold hard gravity plated floor. “So you’re saying we may not survive this mission?” She nodded timidly. “Have you told The Pilot yet?” She shook her head. “Go notify him.” I sighed heavily and audibly, looking around at my undamaged, sleek, white, sterile lab. ‘This could be the last time I see it like this,’ I thought, ‘unmangled.’ The door slid open for my assistant as she followed the lines on the floor, the colors of which would lead her to all parts of the ship. It reminded me how small my lab was. It could only fit four of my fellow Esin at any one time, and some places were 84

occasionally hard to squeeze through. I looked at the colored lines once again, and I wondered if they lead out or in. My eyes followed the flow of the light coming from the ceiling lamp that illuminated the three biobeds in the center of the room. One of the beds was perfectly Esin-sized, the other only three fourths the length of my body. Fit for an adult human. The beds were conjoined by another in the middle, the same size as the bigger one. The walls of the circular room were lined with control consoles, and a single window showing the wonderful clouds of Neptune. Directly behind the beds were two display screens, one for Azalea’s vitals, and one for mine. “Ambasador Visen, report to the command center immediately,” said an unnatural computerized voice. I assumed that this meant I was to make contact with the Terran family. I gathered my composure, wrapped it all up inside a mask of confidence, and followed the orange lines on the ground to the front of the ship. “You arrived quickly.” The Pilot smiled at me like I was a cub who had made their first Kamoatti1. As if I had a reputation for tardiness, which I don’t. “Is it time to make contact with Tsuyoi Mizu?” I asked, regretting volunteering to partake in my ridiculous experiment. But unfortunately, I was the only one crazy enough. “Yes,” the Pilot responded, “He has received the request messages and appears to have taken them seriously.” I nodded my head as he said this, indicating my approval. “The two-way U.T. is operational,” he continued. “Everything is ready for you… good luck.” I nodded once again as a sign that I was ready. The viewscreen then displayed the image of a man with jet black hair. As the helm officer filtered through the interference I noticed his olive skin, and slim, blue-green eyes, he wore a wrangled grayish knit tank top. “I am Ambasador Visen, I am here to–” 1 a Kamoatti is a self sculpture that an Esin makes for every year they live since the age of 10

“What do you want with my daughter?” the man abruptly spoke, completely ignoring my introduction. His face was contorted in a scowl. “Straight to the point I see. Well–” “I prefer not to beat around the bush.” His tone sharpened along with his scowl, his eyes glared like guns pointed at my head. “Well, Mr. Mizu, your daughter is the only one who can establish contact between our two races.” I was surprised that he didn’t interrupt a third time. “What does that mean, and why her?” Those questions were as sharp as his eyes that were still gazing into my soul. How could I even begin to explain to him? Those questions were too hard to answer, so I didn’t. “That is none of your concern, sir.” “Like hell it is! She’s my daughter!” he yelled, “And I demand you tell me what this is all about!” His glare was now clouded with a red rage, the color of his strange hemoglobin based blood. It was as if the guns that he pointed at me had been fired. I hoped that the fear I was feeling was not showing on my face, even though I knew he could not see me. All he must have seen was a black blob with a robotic voice demanding he give up his daughter. I couldn’t answer him; it would compromise the mission. I sighed. “I hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, but in the back of my mind I knew it would.” I looked back to The Pilot, whose face was a mask devoid of the fear that I knew he felt. Gitaro however, wore her fear on her sleeve. But something else crept onto her face. Shame. She felt responsible for putting me in this situation. But she had no choice, and neither did I. I took a moment to let a breath pass through my lungs, “We will have to take her by force.” The transmission was cut just as Tsuyoi’s rage was about to fire again. I turned to The Pilot. “I will need my shuttle, and three soldiers,” I demanded. The pilot nodded; he too saw no other course of action. “I’ll have my engineer prepare the Efgimu for departure, as for 86

the soldiers I’ll send Hufosen, Jiuko, and Wumauro.” I nodded. I knew all those people. Hufosen was a male who preferred to keep all paws on the ground, a bulky physical type. Jiuko was a fierce and talented user of the shield, our genetically enhanced ability to create a physical barrier out of concentrated energy, and they were my main competition back in school. Wumauro was an analytical, tactical woman – she prefered long-ranged weapons. They would do nicely, but I still needed one other person. “I would like to bring Gitaro as well.” “Certainly, Ambassador. I’ll have them meet you in shuttle bay four,” The Pilot said, still with that mask of dissemotion. He was beginning to look like a Yogan. Gitaro and I walked out of the rectangular command room, and followed the white lines on the slate blue floor. She still had a fearful expression on her face, but it was the kind of fearfulness that she wouldn’t let interfere with her mission. The entrance to the shuttle bay opened revealing the wondrous sight of Neptune through the huge open shuttle bay doors, the only thing standing between us and asphyxiation was a force field that we couldn’t even see. Hufosen stood outside the door of the shuttle itself, seeming impatient. Wumauro seemed anxious, but in an excited way. Jiuko was hard to read, they always are. “We must go now. The longer we wait, the more prepared they will be,” scolded Hufosen. He stomped into the shuttle and took his place in the back seat, his dark flowing tail wrapped haphazardly around him. “The same goes for us too, Hufosen. We can’t go in without a plan,” argued Wumauro. She took her place next to him, her pronounced spine plates arched with her back as she sat upright. She tried not to touch her tail to Hufosen’s. Jiuko nodded slightly. “I agree,” they put simply. They sat on the other side of the shuttle, they had always distanced themselves from their fellow Esin. This is what I hated most about them. Gitaro looked at my stoic face. “So, Ambassador, what is 87

our plan?” she asked with a hint of fear in her voice. I thought for a minute, to come up with one. I looked and realized she was once again mirroring my face; she was always doing that. “We will first set a course to Terra,” I replied. “Gitaro?” I prompted her. She nodded and began to set the course. I could feel Wumauro’s glare pierce my cranium like Tsuyoi’s had pierced my soul. She was very fond of plans, and I’m sure my apparent lack of one was frustrating to her. After some petty bickering among the soldiers, we arrived at Terra. “Put us in a polar orbit around their moon, and then we will transport down to the Mizu’s house’s coordinates. You are to stay here, Gitaro,” I ordered. I then turned my focus to the soldiers. They were all sitting somewhat uncomfortably. None of them had any knowledge of Terran ways. “You three will choose a non lethal weapon. We have a tractor pistol, an energy rifle, and a current ribbon,” I stated. That was indeed all we had. A tractor pistol only has three settings; compel, repel, and hold. The typical energy rifle however has twenty-seven, but the one we had can only stun a human. Our current ribbon was intact; its connective fibers were well polarized, the settings work great, but it’s simply hard to use without zapping yourself. The three soldiers scrambled to the weapons that were displayed on a table in the back of the shuttle as Gitaro prepared the transport sequence. I didn’t see what each soldier chose for their weapons but I didn’t care to look. The whoosh of the transportation beam was like a bell that sounded the start of our race. I made sure to keep my voice quiet. Wumaro had the energy rifle. I had done some reading up on the profile Gitaro had made of the Mizu home and family. I gestured to Tsuyoi’s room, where he most likely still is, as it was where he was during our message. “Wumauro, you stun Tsuyoi. If he is not in that room, search the house.” Hofusen had the current ribbon. I pointed to the room of the mother, Daria Volkov Mizu, who was likely still asleep. 88

“Hofusen, you make sure the mother doesn’t wake up, if she does, stun her.” Jiuko had the tractor pistol. I pointed to the end of the hallway at the girl’s room. “Jiuko, you and I will get Azalea.” “Go!” I ordered in a whispery yell. Jiuko and I snuck down the hall. I creaked open the door of Azalea’s bedroom, where she lay sleeping deeply. There were no words between us, they obeyed my nonverbal commands. I had Jiuko place the sleeping girl on my back, and hold her there with the tractor pistol in case she slipped or awoke. The rest of the mission was a blur. All I knew was Jiuko and I got Azalea back to the shuttle, and that was all that mattered. I drifted off to sleep as Gitaro took control. I awoke in my lab. I felt as though I was sharing my space with somebody else, I must have been asleep when it was done. I tried to move but I was restrained by my own precautions. My eyelids felt heavy, I drifted again. I opened my eyes to the lab again, but there were flashing orange lights, frantic nurses, and blaring speakers. I tried to ask why we were in full alert when a touch to my neck put me out again. This time I opened my eyes to see that part of my vision was losing color. I could no longer see ultraviolet light in my left eye, I felt as though I was floating in a stasis tube. Minutes later a jolt made me aware of the fact… … that I was now in Terran hands. My mind wanted to deny, so I closed my eyes once more, and hoped it was all a bad dream like a frightened child. Damn those bipeds. I can only hope that this wasn’t all for naught.

full moon

[Mouse] A i

H u a

“The world doesn’t run on truth. You know this Aspera… So why do you keep trying to sprint on its uneven roads?” His words coiled their way into my beating heart as a snake does to a small mouse. Then as a snake would, they tighten, and press. Until my heartbeat slows and the warmth that had emitted from my lips no longer fogged my glasses. We were walking side-by-side that night. The usually busy alley was filled with ghosts of the morning events. Leaving obnoxious candy wrappers littered on the gray brick ground and closed family shops to the night wanderers. Wanderers such as myself. And Rahj. I averted my attention away from his questioning eyes that had always reminded me of hot chocolate. Warm brown gazes lingering on treasures and desires with stunning white flecks like marshmallows. A memory so innocent and juvenile. I almost forgot that he used to be that way. “Well… I suppose it’s something I value. Something that impresses me. And would very much appreciate it if the world could impress me.” Squaring my shoulders back I take a deep breath, letting the gelid night air bite the back of my throat. “But you don’t have to worry, Rahj.” Looking over to the man who I despise, I grit my teeth at how he looks so sweet. Hair, the shade of poetry ink, rosy cheeks against his tawny complexion, hands made for caring and yet used for… “You don’t have to worry. You will never impress me the way I’d wish you had. The way I wish you would.” My words cut a slice out of the night sky. And by the look in Rahj’s eyes, a piece of his heart… Good. Like a snake leaving its prey, I leave him. For he was a bitter mouse. Good for killing, not for my health. 92

[Over the moon i go] A n o n y m o u s Under the moon I stroll, Taking it all in, Wondering where this beauty started to exist. Past the moon I ride, Looking at it as I glide right by, Wondering when this long ride will end. Next to the moon I soar, Taking in its beauty I adore, Wondering how big it could possibly be. On the moon I fly, Way up past the sky Wondering how far down my home is. Over the moon I go, Taking in everything below, Realizing I’m falling. Back down I fall, Back into the sky, Breathing in the beauty. Under the moon I stroll, Wondering how did the beauty begin, But I’m satisfied just taking it in.

[Before ~ a poem written at midnight] You lay back onto the grass of your front lawn And look up at the sky The sound of birds The clouds in all their wonderful, weird shapes The sun shining on your face You smile as you breathe in deeply Only it’s not the scent of freshly cut grass you smell It’s not the scent of spring Of flowers that have just bloomed Or the smell of rain No It smells like despair It smells like trash and sadness Of smoke and gasoline It smells awful Your smile melts away as you remember You reach to your face and take off the goggles and the headset You look around and see No sky No trees No fun cloud shapes No sun You don’t hear the sound of birds chirping Only trash instead of trees Only smog instead of clouds Darkness replaces the sun Instead of the birds, there is the sound of yelling and metal 94

clanging against metal You put away your precious goggles and the headset Knowing that what you just saw was how life used to be Before Before global warming Before politics Before greed Before racism Before sexism Before everything that brought society to its knees Before humanity took The trees The sky The clouds The flowers The birds Before humanity replaced it with Shopping malls And pollution And garbage And robots Before humanity killed the last cow Before humanity cut down the last tree Before Before Before we brought mother nature to her knees

C a y d e n

[the moon] r y l e e

n e l s o n

[Empty Halls] C e d e r

K e n d a l l

My mind swirls and turns, Leading me through the endless empty halls. To nothing. Where nothing stands and all that is left is blank and cold. Yes, my mind swirls and turns, To make my eyes shoot open bloodshot and red. I run and run following the arrows in the empty halls, I run. I run. I run. I run through empty halls to find emptiness. Empty rooms. Empty thoughts. Emptiness. ALL that is left is the moon. That swirls and turns and the sky like my mind

[Protected] C h a r l o t t e High in the sky, the moon shines endlessly and the glass dome that protects our city is covered in frost from the cold. The clouds surround that moon and seem to be chanting to it. But, I know that I am safe in our city.

Blue Moon Child E l a n a

S h a e

[THE DARK ] C o l e

F l e t c h e r

The full bright light of the night sky shines down upon the glimmering grass, I walk along fingertips brushing against the soft tips of the grass, I fall to my knees begging for my life as that full moon once beautiful becomes sinister, the gods above didn’t listen to my plea, because I fall to the ground as the screams start again, the void I enter heartless and dead, the empty abyss building in my chest pounding to escape, the endless dark calls to me, it wants me, I shall not give in so if I do, it’s gone, the empty abyss engulfing every last atom, I am what it wants me, the moon will save us from the abyss the dark against the light, or the darkness will rise.

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[Passing] E l a n a

S h a e

After the blooms Of countless springs And vibrant decay Of a hundred autumns, When I sleep in the arms Of an earth Tender And loving, The winds above Will still blow the same, Perhaps with the memory Of my breath In their hands.

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[frost] e l l a

t h o m p s o n

she grew up with wrapping paper scattered around a messy room and trees like ghosts outside her window frost tinting their branches white, foreshadowing the snowy days that follow early december. she wore mittens in the cold months, though she hated them dearly, and tore them off with satisfaction when the neighborhood cats beckoned with fractured meows and soft fur. her mother, a kind woman, with brown hair, would join her on the stone steps that led up to their little blue house (with cracked, peeling paint) and would sit with her until the air became too fierce and turned their faces red like the cherry pie that they always had on christmas eve, the kind that was bought at the store and put on a crystal plate, because it tasted better that way. she was the type of girl who threw snowballs with a fury that seemed disproportionate 102

to her small stature; though her aim was uncertain; young arms and thin legs still holding on to the clumsy first years of life. she was loved by her parents and her neighbors and the world in the way that the rain eased when she made the trek to school and the way that blackberry thorns never held on to her for longer than a moment. she did not grow up with pearls in her ears or diamonds circling her wrist but she grew up knowing that the snow would fall again and that the stars would spin in the sky and that the seasons would pass in hues of pink and navy and porcelain white. and for her, that was more than enough.

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[Living] F i n c h I am broken Slightly, my Teeth too sharp Eyes too wide Soaking in the world Hungry, inpatient, imperfect Trying my best Making mistakes Tripping, but Getting back up

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L o g a n

[Awoken] H o l l a n d

H a v a r a h

E l i z a b e t h

Farewell To the light Forever forgotten Icy and tired The moon has awoken Once there’s time To stop To look Scared to step foot In the cold Stale and Rotten A story Tarnished and Cast in The light Never not Fast Thin Careful Callus What secrets Hast with in

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[Untitled] A u d r e y

106

S t e n g e r

[The Moments of Fall] H u d s o n

C o n b o y

The leaves glide down to the ground When the wind blows through the trees Bursting out with color Catching the leaves as if they were friends The Moments of Fall When the leaves lightly brush the ground And the children are yelling with excitement As they scatter over the leaves Listening to the satisfying sound of the crunch Under their feet The Moments of Fall The musky-sweet smell of a leaf pile To the sounds of the birds flying south A trip the the pumpkin patch To cuddling up next to the warm fire The Moments of Fall Sipping cider just waiting Until mom’s apple pie is done The crispy air greets me As i make a leaf pile in the front yard The Moments of Fall

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[First Homecoming] I s a b e l l a

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

I wake up to the morning fog pressing into the windows. The smell of fading incense and coffee drifts through the air. The house is cold and dark, but the setting being my mom’s house, the lack of warmth and light doesn’t affect the comforting welcoming feel. The rooms are a friend who, even when cold, will give me a loving embrace. Tonight I will leave my home and dance in neon lights with girls I barely know, thinking of it all, excitement fills me. I lounge about in my pajamas reading and watching TV until late in the day when the sun covers the banana tree leaves and they glow gold, and yet a vibrant green. I get dressed up hours before my leaving time. I put on my mom’s dress and jewelry that she gives me. A black shiny dress, with hints of red and white. I like it because it looks fun and formal enough. I wear a prism cut crystal necklace with the opacity of snow, one I wear frequently, and red-droppedshaped earrings of bloody pearl shine. I clip my dark hair with plastic teeth. My eyes are outlined with fully black powder. I look pretty, but I wonder how long my youthful beauty will last. I do all this, only to revert to my pajamas and flat hair. I should have prepared later and saved myself the trouble of dressing up twice, always too captivated with the future to live in the present as usual. I leave at four and drive to drivers ed for my in-person driver training. We practice parking, which I’m not great at, sadly. I drive around a neighborhood near the driver’s ed building. Fiery leaves drift down from autumn trees, the falling silhouettes switch shapes with masses of crows. Plastic ghosts and inflated black cats watch as I steer. The spherical moon stands still in the darkening blue sky as the hours tick, always ticking and never stopping for me to pause in the moments I want to live in. When I met my mom at 6:30 pm the sky is black as rich velvet. I drive down the 205, or rather up for north. The video game-like dancing lights of hurrying cars stretch on for miles. 108

My stomach coils like a snake out of a tinge of fear from the intimidating luminescent flow of traffic that swallows you like a leaf in a stream. When the novelty ceases, will my fear of new driving situations cease? When I’m old and mundane and my skin has started to crinkle, will I be able to drive down the highways in darkness without anxiety? Through the rural pines climbing around the road, I park in front of my friend Mahalia’s house. We met when we were seventh-graders, through karate class, and here we are sophomores together. She’s the longest friendship I’ve had and she hasn’t faded away or abandoned me like all my other temporary friendships. We are both half Filipina, my other half white and hers black. We joke that we are the yin and yang of Filipinas, and yin and yang cannot renounce the other. I bid farewell to my mom and she leaves as I enter the large house. Mahalia’s mom greets me with youthful excitement. I walk down the stairs to see Mahalia with two other girls. They are wearing jumpsuits and dresses covered in glimmering sequins, glitter uniformity. Mahalia wears a short, tight dress with her voluminous curls as a large crown. She looks gorgeous and like she’s about to get wasted at a club, so red and vibrant. Ava, a girl I’ve never met, looks just like Arianna Grande, with a brunette high ponytail and a shining jumpsuit like white champagne. Serena, a girl I saw with Mahalia at a football game, looks like a curvy mermaid with hair of blonde curling ironed twists. Her jumpsuit doesn’t have sleeves like Ava’s but still long pants, but colored a rich teal. They all make enthusiastic music with their conversation. I try on dresses covered in sequins like theirs, but they are too loose in the waist and too short. I’ll stick with my mom’s dress. So I pop out against their collectivist glamour. When they finish their makeup we sit in the car and Mahalia’s cool mom drives us. I hope when I’m middle-aged I’ll stay alluring like her. The three other girls wear high heels, Mahalia black stilettos, Ava square white heels, and Serena low black wedges. I hear shoes are what people take notice of first. Do shoes define a person? I wear the black Vans that I wear daily, so their complaints about their painful feet all night do not correlate with 109

me. Street shoes and basketball shorts under my knee-length dress, wow me, so casual among the gems. Believe me, I’m the type of girl who’d be overjoyed to wear small flashy dresses and pumps, but I didn’t get the memo in time. However, I still look good for homecoming, and I’m comfortable. Homecoming at her high school is loud and colorful. Inside the gymnasium, walls are lined with paper photo drops following the 70’s disco theme. A swarm of bouncing teenagers, who I think should be dancing, pulse where the powerful pop songs burst out of a DJ’s black speakers, each beat like a wave. The rhythm of their flow is in tune with the masses like they are each bacteria in a sole organism. The smell of artificially sweet perfume sprays and sweat make their way up my nose through my cloth mask. Many more girls wear glittery tight dresses showing their skinny waist above their high heels. All of our immodestly shown skin is exposed to the autumn frigid breeze. Lights of seizing rainbows dance along with me as I copy the movements of my group. I enjoy dancing with them, and even though we are virtually strangers, I don’t feel uncomfortable moving brushing against their sides and all of them against mine. People are abundant, which is a bit daunting after the covid-19 outbreak, but it was super fun to just be with so many others in a carefree environment. I started the day with anxiousness gnawing in my stomach over fear from an intimidating social gathering. My figure felt weak as if my body was rotting fruit and one hard push would puncture me. But now, any feeling of nervousness thawed out into excitement, my heartbeat still quickened and my senses alert. I felt alive, and I felt loud like the music in the breeze, and I felt like I still could be louder. It’s all so spirited. I want to live a life filled with bright lights and firm skin forever, but things always end, don’t they? When a line of cars came for their kids in the curving parking lot, Myla’s mom picked us, four girls, up and took us to briefly examine the aisles of Fred Meyer. They got snacks, and I got kimchi ramen. A sweet crinkled woman with a voice of oversmoked cigarettes complimented us at checkout. She saw that 110

we’re young and beautiful, and I know I should enjoy it while it lasts. At Mahalia’s house, we escape the cold by sitting in the relaxing hot tub, lighting our bodies with a northern light gradient. All three of them talked about their complicated and melancholic relationships with boys. I listened for hours, I had nothing to contribute besides bewildered inhales. Young love is like candy, a lot of people like it, but it sickens me and gives me a headache. Save the romanticizing brought to me by fictional movies and books, convincing me that to truly enjoy high school, I have to have a lover to entertain me. My older relatives tell me that teenage years are the best part of life, old enough to be free, but cared for enough to not be weighed down by responsibility. Too bad I spend most of my days in my room completing my homework assignments to get those straight A’s I’m convinced I need for success in life. But when the heat seeps far into our flesh and feels like we’re dripping and melting, we get into pajamas and eat dinner. Mahalia cooked kimchi ramen for the two of us, as we are both connoisseurs of vegan Asian food. The noodles tasted heavenly as I was so hungry from the energetic evening. Then we go downstairs and hang out. Instead of watching TV, we sit on the mattresses and talk. They eat candy and chips, I eat carrots and low sugar, protein cookies. I’m healthy, aren’t I? I’ll stay healthy, right? Ava was the first to sleep at 2 AM. Mahalia, Serena, and I stayed up until 4 AM singing soft karaoke. Mahalia sang Foreigner’s songs while I hummed background vocals. I’ll remember the melodies and smile each time I look back on this moment. I sleep and the two talk longer I think. I arise at 8, the earliest to get up. When we make our way upstairs at 11, there are so many breakfast items. Their house is so accommodating, like a hotel. I just eat bread and vegan butter. We go downstairs again and sing loud and raspy and from the unchained hearts. The rare pure fun night is over, and we try to revive it with laughing choruses. But we have to say goodbye. 111

[Moonlight] B y

112

C h l o e

[Deliver Me] I s a b e l l a

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

SAND! The desert sand of the Sahara spread out into a wide expanse as if a giant hourglass broke over the land. The three magnificent pyramids stood jarring in stature for the grandfather, father, and son. SAND AND PULL! In every direction, clear pastel skies dominated the yellow landscape. Blowing sand battled the other particles, grinding their brothers from rock formations into finer dust. Two sacred hands covered with mystic paint, one blue, one beige. Moved together, slashing the sky I saw, over the void of galaxies beyond. WITH THE SALT OF MY SWEAT ON MY BROW I descended down a shadowed tomb. The thick air adhered to my skin and baked my flesh into a sweat. There was no real freedom from the harsh sun. ELOHIM, GOD ON HIGH, CAN YOU HEAR YOUR PEOPLE CRY? We stacked their pyramids to the heavens and filled them with gold, and sacrificed our bodies of service, all so the pharaohs would live a second life. It was selfish to demand that much, all for the sake of living eternally. 113

HELP US NOW. The more helpless a creature, the more entitled it is to protection. Yet I saw crowds of our neglected people, covered in dirt and wounds on the streets. THIS DARK HOUR, Down a spiral staircase, where the bodies decayed. It got darker and darker as the unclouded sun faded away. With openings in stone large enough for me to fall through. HERE IN THIS BURNING SAND, Stout mountains surfaced, and the Red Sea plummeted over the hills. DELIVER US Like the woman covered in flowing black clothing, who guided my rope. I traveled through the desert on a camel, And she delivered me. The ground seemed farther away As the dunes rose. THERE’S A LAND YOU PROMISED US My body floated limply beneath the tides, you created, To a land adorned with diverse vegetation. Far from the beige tones of this kingdom. DELIVER US TO THE PROMISED LAND Across this emptied sea, I reminded myself that prophecies were real. That rays of sun entwined onto my skin, like a pompous snake. 114

Young clung to my horse, chained to me and covered with sores. Poor good and tender children, Looked at me with begging eyes, drooping down and clouded with filth.

I had nothing to give, Yet I held you next to me, and I sincerely hoped, you had faith. Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid. I PRAY WE’LL MEET AGAIN IF HE WILL Protect me from fate, I must be destined to have. I can’t end up like the dead, discarded in the Sahara. My corpse abandoned, where alabaster stone met the sand, because my body was no longer useful to whoever was using me. DELIVER US For the pharaohs looked at us And offered nothing. I believe you were my answer. They shook their heads, and slashed their hands And slashed our skin open as well. 115

HEAR OUR PRAYER, DELIVER US I prayed for you on embellished rugs. I always heard the restrained voices We were all drowning, you were our first breath above the sea. FROM DESPAIR, THESE YEARS OF SLAVERY Things humans in power were willing to do, to appease their desires. All of them enslaved those below them, so they became gods.

116

[Summoned] L a c e y

I stood there, stuck. I was frozen In the air, In my cotton nightgown. You could barely see me, my face covered In darkness. I tried to move my arms and legs but they wouldn’t move. My body was paralyzed. The trees around me were moving In the wind. Sounds were coming from all around me. The wind whispered to me. “You’re stuck, freedom exiled.” Small light orbs blinked everywhere In my vision. The moon was large and bright, my only way to see. I hear It running. The Bloodthirsty eyes blink In the corner of my eye. A woman screams faintly from afar. The wind grows louder into a roar. It grabs me. The large teeth of the beast were red. I passed out. Only seeing darkness. My breathing stopped. It will never start again. “You’re stuck, freedom exiled.” The only thing left was the moon. Bright and full. It’s gone and won’t come back. The moon will wait for a newcomer. To then summon It again.

117

[No pity] I s a b e l l a

118

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

[Cheese Moon] L i l l i e

S a w y e r

It hangs above the pastures in Stilton, Edam and other lands Lighting up the night to ward off Munsters from the dark Decorating the sky in colors of bleu to a cheddar orange It’s time in the sky may be brie-f But it’s always gouda to remember That you are never prov-alone As the big ball of mozzarella glows above us all Accompanying us all under its monte-reys

119

[Change Poem] M i l e y

C o t e

I listen to the rustling leaves, swimming in the air from the wind, and I get a warm feeling. A feeling because of all the trees. I remember, in the corner plot, They had a giant tree, reaching up to the sky. But, like what happens to too many trees, new people bought the house, and down the tree went. Now don’t get me wrong, I live in a very green neighborhood, almost like the trees organized a meeting here. But even here, trees are still disappearing, so I fear for places with less income, less care, and subsequently, fewer trees. I try to not think about it, but I read, I watch the news, and there’s no way to shield myself from it. Climate Change Such a nasty word, I think. Hurricanes, Floods, Droughts, Fires, Storms, almost like the earth is getting mad at us for destroying the atmosphere. Sooner or later, people will have to face the facts, they might not care now, but by the end of my lifetime, I worry for the state of our planet. Now as this couch holds me up, I know that my parents’ income holds my family up. And that the richest, the people hurting the planet the most, will be the last to be harmed, and when they feel its effects, it will be too late. But I still hold hope, 120

Like a teetering table that refuses to topple and turn upside down. I hold hope that we can overcome this, that we will overcome this. And so I return to the trees. Like a Beautiful Blossoming Blissful Birch, that almost seems to be blushing with all the fall colors. If this neighborhood can rally together to help, maybe the rest of the world will too. Maybe Maybe Maybe

121

[From your Biggest Fan] P a u l

C o l l i n s

“From Fan to Slippers” Dear Slippers, my love for you is deep, everything you touch immediately feels warm and cozy. I know that we’ve never touched, but every time I see you, you make me feel like I’m not just a random piece of plastic, wires, and screws. I’m literally your biggest Fan. Slippers, you’ve touched many things, except me. Do you remember that time when Paul took you off right before he got in bed and he was too cold to have me blowing so he put me down right next to you. Was it just me or did you feel the chemistry between us? I sure did. But anyways I feel that if we touch there will be a burning passion that will start an ongoing flame, a flame will never extinguish. Trust me, even though I generate wind I won’t blow this flame out. Unlike last time, when I was in a relationship with an eye mask, this will not be a bad idea. What I’m trying to get at here is that I LOVE YOU! “From Slippers to Fan” Dear Fan, you’re a wonderful object, you have a great sense of humor, and your looks blow me away. But, I am in love with Robe. In fact, I’m dating Robe. He’s warm like me, he’s soft like me, and Paul wears him a lot with me. We’ve grown really close actually, I remember the day he came in. Paul walked into the room wearing him, and I remember feeling an 122

immediate flame starting. I’m pretty sure that he felt it too. As soon as Paul set him down I went over to meet him. We talked for a little while and then things got heated. I remember when we started dating. It was a long time ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. So although you’re a sweet guy, I just can’t see you as the one, when I think of you I think of a friend not a lover. But when I think of Robe, I see my knight in shining armor. You’re a really good friend, but I love Robe. I hope that we can still be friends after this. From your dear friend, Slippers.

123

[Broken] K i r a

124

S p e n c e r

[Mountain and the moon] q u i n n The dark sky was illuminated by the bright stars and moon. A few houses lights were on, A mountain high in the sky. I wondered; could the mountain touch the moon? The mountain was dark, sharp, harsh, But, the moon was bright, soft, welcoming. The moon looked safe, the mountain cruel. Opposites, but together they complete each other. The wind blew circling the sky, Hills of grass in the background, A quiet whistle through the air.

125

[Untitled] S a r a h Beach bathed in a bowl of milky light Moon humms a sleepy song To the waves that stroke the sand In a soft celesta scale Palm trees dance A slow, sad number As wind sneaks through their leaves Setting them a-sway

126

G a r d n e r

[ladies of the solstice]

S e n e c a

i rest, spine curved like the trunk of an old tree, as wind draws icy circles against my skin. inhaling a shaky breath, grey pricks the edges of my eyes and caresses my lips. the girls, they run barefoot skin kissing brittle grass and polyester dresses rubbing softly against their shins, callow laughs float up like fog painting their cheeks a vibrant rose. i watch as they link arms and saunter off towards the cedar trees, 127

ivory ribbons dance wildly in their hair as the late December sun flattens and dusk begins to fall. they sit in a circle for the final time, ankles pressed into soil and palms stretched towards the sky. lights flicker around them as whispers of sweet wishes for the moon to rise t r a i l off their lips and bury deeply in the new hollows of their faces. remembrance pools just out of my grasp and I grow dizzy as the girls lift their heads up to the stars, 128

letting the cosmos drip off their chins and collect on the hems of their dresses. they bid the light one final hushed goodbye before the moon rises up up up slowly like the steady tap of water into a creek, slowly until the sky becomes murky slowly until the stillness of juvenility disappears under spilled ink.

129

[untitled] s o p h i a As we watch the sky, Observing the constellations and the stars left astray I can’t help but be jealous of them and their stagnant lives, Unlike the stars you and i are not definite, Even through the day the stars remain the same Behind the wing of a bird, Past the thick of a cloud, Even as they are chilled by the wind And blurred by the rain, The stars will be the same

130

[life on the moon.] s o p h i a

( r a v e n )

g i a c c h i n o

Fields of stars nestle in oceans of matter, just out of reach, millions upon millions of miles away. Oh, how the Earth glows in the face of the Sun. Shining land. Cold presses in, surrounding you, but here you are safe. Shadows form chasms beneath the surfaces of the endless basins of water, the blood of the planet. Green, so much green. Brown, too, where the blood does not reach and heat scorches the soil. Dead land. White where the Earth fractured and rose into the clouds. Mountains. They form the shape of a sleeping woman, resting her head on her bed of white. Could they be so small from here? Do you really want to leave? The stars seem to be singing.

131

[The Defector] T o k u m e i

N o

S a k u s h a

They say monarchy will never work on a civilized world, yet it does on Ra. That is because we are not civilized. I am Jyk Bek, first princess of the Aro’Ra High Castle. This desolate, arid, tidally locked planet’s government is oppressive and degrading to our people, and I wish not to have any part of it. But I am Jyk Bek, first princess of the Aro’Ra High Castle, and I must be the oppressor, it is in my blood. It is my job to ‘hear the voices of the people’ but the people do not speak for if they do, they must -by law- only speak the truth. And the truth is this system is a terrible insidious trap that no one has escaped for a millenia. I am Jyk Bek, first princess of the Aro’Ra High Castle. I hate my name. The royal family name of ‘Bek’ is Old World for ‘superior’ and ‘Jyk’ translates to ‘destiny’. Destined to be superior, a stupid name. I must escape. I must escape this evil planet. A war is in the making, a war between Ra and Terra, and my father is stirring the pot. My father, the ‘honorable’ king of our world. There is nothing honorable about that narcissistic pseudo-messiah, he is no more fit to lead a country than president Rodger A. Jesterson on Terra. There is nothing ‘honorable’ about me either, as I am a member of the resistance. “Ah, would you look at that! Our Flamely Queen has returned!” spoke a boy in a sleeveless black jumpsuit, “How may we serve you today, on this dank and desolate night?” He asked with a grandiose gesture of his left paw, a paw so beaten from retreat it is a wonder it is still operational. This very battle-worn boy has an annoying tendency to ‘welcome’ me each time I return to the claustrophobic, nyctophobic, trypophobic cave that is the home of his resistance cell, though over the course of our four-year allyship I have become 132

accustomed to this. The Cave – as they call it – is truly a frightening place, but at least the people do not stick up their long snouts at you to pretend they are taller. “You need not announce my presence so loudly that it echoes off the walls, Aro’Fek.” I scolded, “Now, have you and your soldiers found me a ship yet?” His already large, lime green, almond shaped eyes widened and his ears swerved down. The rest of his tall, spindly, shacklefurred body was frozen in place. Not a single new wrinkle appeared in the thick, onyx colored fabric of his jumpsuit that was draped over his fur. His black fleece scarf was pressed down by his ears that were larger than his head, and the flames that reached from his dark ash colored forehead to the scorched white base of his skull dimmed to a luminescent orange, indicating to me that he was nervous. He clearly did not have my ship. He had promised me he would find it before the seventh orbit, I am beginning to think our alliance is weakening. “W-well…” he stuttered, “Not exactly…” “Not exactly? It is a yes or no question, Aro’Fek.” My patience was going, the flames atop my head shifted to a bloody hue of blue, I watched the light reflect off his eyes. He backed away slowly, the clicking of his nails echoing throughout the dank cave that was solely lit by the colorful flames on the heads and tail tips of the resistance members. Their flames shifted to the slight and quiet citrusy color of terror, dimming the light in the dark cavity so that the brightest light was my enraged cerulian inferno. “No, we don’t have it… but we will! Soon…” He was clearly terrified, I was about a paw height taller than him and he knew all too well my bad temper. All Aro’Ra have a bad temper, but mine was particularly short. With a clear and unobstructable tone I spoke, “How soon?” I asked, my well groomed paws coming closer to him in a slow and steady pace. “S-soon enough…” I took a strong step forward, “How soon!?” With the raising of my voice he recoiled and his blaze of 133

fear grew brighter, my shouting stoked my own blue crown of fire. Crouched into a knobbly ball of flight, he responded, “Two days.” His tone was shaky but truthful. That gave me plenty of time, I would be able to escape unnoticed. Stealth would be hard, not many ships leave here, but luckily we had a rather weak planetary defense on the inner side. Five days ago a general of sorts came to the High Castle with a request to limit outgoing ships, as to reduce the chance of intelligence escaping. As the liaison between the royals and the others – including nobles – he came to me. I turned his proposal down. Thinking about this calmed my flames, and they returned to their regular color. “Two days…” I echoed, “There are three days until the end of the sixth orbit, I should have enough time, as long as you get me my ship on time. I expect to see it at the mouth of The Cave when I come back in two days.” He nodded quickly and smiled, but his grin was cracked and disingenuous and only lasted one second. His orange blaze dimmed as I backed away, our uncomfortable closeness that created a squared claustrophobia faded with the distance that I was cultivating between us. “Understood…” His face grew into a brighter smile, a smile that was purely for performance, “My Flamely Queen.” He bowed his head as he spoke, mocking the customs of interaction with royalty. He gazed at me with his head low until I decided to leave The Cave a moment after, and his glare followed me as I trotted down the dark tunnel that led out of the room. The devious path was damp with fear and anger, it went on for a long distance in almost pure darkness. Soon I could feel the fur-burning dry heat of the surface. I despise the heat of the west, but I preferred it to the creeping guilt that was forever in my wake at the High Castle. Upon my return I was greeted by the castle guards, two burly men with limbs as thick as my paw who stood at the castle gates with spears. They were so tall that I could not see their eyes over their jaws. They gave me no trouble, as it was not their place to question a royal. I easily made my way 134

to my room, the only thing that could have happened was an encounter with another guard. My door was far too tall, it was somewhat difficult to open because of the sheer size of it. ‘The height is symbolic,’ I have heard. I hate symbolism. It creaked as I pushed it with my head, and made a loud and deep boom as it finally closed. With the last of my energy I ran to my bed and fell face-first into the large furry blankets. From there I fell into a deep sleep. ___________________________________________________ I got a very late start the next morning, waking only hours before the cycle ended. I decided against leaving my room that day, and I only packed my things. The perpetual twilight of the east was refreshing to wake up to. I have heard stories of the Terrans who open their eyes to the burning light of their yellow sun – Sol – every morning. I will have to prepare myself for that. There was a building anxiety in the air, and it got worse the stiller I was. I kept myself moving, packing my bag with various essential things around my obscenely large room. The silver spires on my bed were twice my standing height, and they were far from ever reaching my domed ceiling adorned with a mural that depicted the first revolution. The images of the people were horribly inaccurate to the true events of the first revolution, with New Kingdom soldiers shown in glowing light and divinity and the Old Kingdom natives seen in total darkness. The truth of that war was that it was the New Kingdom soldiers who were the true snarl-faced savages. I never liked waking up every day only to see these lies. I never liked this room, but somehow I knew I would miss it. Soon I had to retire to my bed again. ‘This will be the last time I sleep in these sheets,’ I thought. I made sure to savor the softness and warmth of the blankets. One last time. ___________________________________________________ The lies and deception of the painting on my ceiling greeted me once more. I woke very early in the cycle, much 135

earlier than any of my nosy family members. The guards would not question my departure as they are not allowed to, and my disguise was sure to work as it has not failed me for many years. I tried to free myself from the pit of comfort that was my bed; the blue and brown sheets tried to pull me back in and the mattress made a slope that was intimidating, but I arose, as I did every morning. I stepped into my royal gown, almost tripping a few times over the long, iridescent tulle train. I hate my gown, but luckily I will only need it to get past the guards. After leaving the walls through the back way, I can traverse the noble’s courtyard, and there I can shed my gown and put on my cloak. My royal necklace will be no hassle. It simply disappears in my thick, black, consuming cloak. On arriving at The Cave, I immediately noticed the absence of my ship. My fire was brightening to a dangerous blue, but just as I was about to call for Aro’Fek, I heard a whirring noise. The area at the entrance of the cave seemed to warp and ripple, soon it created the silhouette of a large structure with two half-rings. It faded into view; it was my ship. Off the ship stepped that battered boy, with his head high and two others trailing behind him as he strolled toward me. His flames were a bright and prideful lime green, and the borax of his confidence snuffed out his usual stench of rotting leadership. With an insufferable cocky grin he spoke loudly, “Your ship, my Flamely Queen.” I gave him a sarcastic smirk. “There is no need for you to call me such a thing, you helpless refugee.” I mocked his chivalry. “Oh, my dear, why are you ever so dissatisfied with my gifts to you?” he asked. His eastern accent was exasperating, truly terrible. “A cloak,” I remarked, “So that is why it took you so long, you wanted to get me a ship with a cloak.” It made a bit more sense now, why it took so long, why he had been so cheeky about it… I recognised the design. “It must have taken 136

some incredible deception to get a Esinac stealth cruiser.” The planet Koeffa of the Esin is a neighbor to us, orbiting our sun at a farther distance of three million ki’go1 away. “The terrans have a word for a man like you: simp.” The two men behind him stared intently, their blazes were unreadable, neutral, a mixture of reds, yellows and blues. “Who are they?” I asked. Without missing a beat he replied, “Your crew, you can’t operate this ship on your own.” I scoffed. “Watch me.” I pranced past the three boys, and skipped onto the ship with petty glee. “Goodbye Aro’Fek!” I shouted as I closed the door. I engaged the cloak and activated the impulse engines, “Goodbye, Ra.” The ship took off with a powerful thrust, it flew, past the perimeter security, past the artificial moon, and into the void. My species have been called many things, the Esin call us mjimofo2, the people of the Terran’s Japanese archipelago know us as kitsune, but I will tell you who we really are… Tyrants. I set a course to Terra, and engaged warp engines.

Three million ki’go is equivalent to 7.5 million kilometers. 2 mjimofo is Esinac for ‘evil sticks’... it loses something in the translation.

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[Fall of Fall] T u r t l e “Life goes on. If we walk life hoping that no one notices our insecurities and fears, we will always be afraid that someone might find out.” There was once a cat, white as broken eggshells and hot blue fire eyes that loved to roll crunchy leaves. Crunchy leaves and warm forgotten fires lit with pale fingers, burning out slowly until it invites soft cold. The cat didn’t have a name, no, it didn’t have one. It was alone, but it liked it that way. Fall was its favorite season, November its favorite month, 11 it’s favorite number. The cat met an owl, an owl with beautiful purple eyes and black feathers, black as dark oceans. When the cat asked its name, the owl simply said that its favorite color was gray. So the cat decided to call it Gray. Gray was ecstatic to have a name, something to call itself. Gray and the cat stay together and catch mice bugs. They laid in cold moonlight akin to being submerged in cool crystal pools. The cat and Gray often take strolls near the apple creek, soft wet soil to bury claws in. One day, they come across an amazing creature, and the cat was mesmerized. It had a hard shell and soft underbelly, and its neck could shrink into its body along with all its limbs. The cat asked Gray what it was, and Gray said it was a “turtle.” A wondrous thing, truely. The cat loved the name of it, everything about it. Turtles were the cat’s favorite creature, brown and green and pale gray. Gray knew the names of all sorts of plants and animals the cat lacked knowledge of, sharing information about nettles and red clovers. One day, the cat and Gray were enjoying their stroll 138

when they came across a clearing. Upon seeing the clearing, along with it came a sap-tinted air. Inside a small bush lay a small rabbit the color of light rain clouds, eyes a dark royal blue. Along the rows of trees there stood three more creatures, speaking amongst themselves. There was a red fox with bright magenta eyes only the setting sky could rival. Its sleek fire kin fur was smooth and beautiful with sprouts of summer cloud fur coming up to the muzzle from its underbelly. A snake scales yellow like the sun and fall leaves. Their honey eyes nearly glowed in golden light as they wrapped themself around the fox’s shoulders, relaxed. The underbelly slick and pale, shining scales radiating in the leaf-filtered light. With them, a raccoon that had bright green eyes and black striped fur. She sat eating an apple, slowly chewing as if to savor the rose tinted fruit. She looked so wistfully into the distance, her gaze never quite seeing. The cat was curious, and could imagine Gray was as well, their gaze swiftly crossing each creature. They approached them, greeting each of them in a kind fashion. The rest of them do the same, introducing themselves to the cat and Gray. The fox was Seapea, the snake insisted on being called Janus and not their name, and raccoon was named Nico. When they had asked for the cat’s name, the cat said it didn’t have one. The cat eventually went to see the rabbit, slowly walking over to the small thistle bush. Once she had awoken, she was shockingly calm to have woken up to a feline. Her large royal blue eyes stared down the cat, asking of its name, to which it stated it did not have a name. The rabbit claimed to not want to reveal her name, and that was okay. When the cat brought her over to meet the others, she introduced herself as Logan. A fitting name for a thing with such eyes, a different shade of the cat’s yet the same color. They were but ice and ocean, together a bond like none other. They would stroll together now, nesting within the same grand oak. With Gray and Janus in branches and the rest in 139

warm pockets of roots. They would stroll together, speak stories and wistfully sleep away the bitter cold. Together they had made the season of fall and all the beautiful things that came with it. Yellow fall leaves, dark blue night skies, deep purple twilights, stubborn green shrubs, dying sunsets, and a bright near winter sky. The cat became close with Seapea, having long philosophical talks as they gazed out at the dense forest trees. Nico became a close partner with the cat as well, the two often hunting together. Janus and the cat rarely spoke but got along, trusting each other. One spring night, as they had all gotten settled in their now single nest, Janus had revealed their name as Kai. It was a big deal for the group of its entirety, as names were a sign of trust. However, most of the cat’s time was spent with Logan. The two would sometimes swim in the shallow part of the creek and find interesting rocks of all sorts. Oh, how Logan loved rocks. She would be down in the banks for hours searching for just the right one, the cat often to the side admiring the turtles. Seasons passed until fall had returned, the dear familiarity of fall. Leaves crunch and bark hardens, fruit falling violently now. Fall was the cat’s favorite season, after all, November its favorite month, 11 its favorite number. The group was on a stroll, a pleasant one of course. Long had passed since they all met, bones growing heavy on a select few. They walked together upon the apple creek trail, Kai resting on Seapea’s shoulders. All was well, all was okay. Until the cat heard Logan’s scream. Logan had been grabbed by hot gloved fingers, shaken wildly. Panic rose in the cat’s throat as another hand went to grab Seapea, the fox quick to bite. Before the cat could see it happen, Gray had been caged along with Nico. Seapea bit the tall featureless creature that held Logan, causing it to drop Logan to the ground. Kai was stepped on so violently, such a quick jarring death. The cat heard Seapea yell at it to run and to not stop, so it did. Grabbing Logan by the scruff, the cat ran. The cat ran until their mighty oak with soft warm roots 140

was far away, lost among orange and yellow. It ran until it couldn’t hear Seapea and Gray’s cries to run and do not stop. Finally, the cat stopped suddenly and collapsed. Logan was released from its grip and they cried together. They cried until the full moon was high in the sky, much too proud. The cat secretly envied the sky, hating it as even in sorrow it stood happy. At least the sun had the nerve to not hide within thousands of stars like a scared kit. When they had stopped, the cat noticed something wrong. Logan had been breathing oddly since they had stopped. The cat took a good look at Logan until she told it that the creature had shaken her so hard her bones broke. They broke in such a fashion that the bones were slowly killing her. A wail broke out from the cat. The cat couldn’t lose another; Logan was all it had left. Logan was the yellow in fall leaves that lit up the trees, the rose tinted apples Nico had loved so much. Her fur was the light fall clouds to its own birch bark fur, its everything. As the cat watched Logan die, the rabbit spoke slowly, “Let’s introduce ourselves, shall we love?” The cat let out a pitiful sob, the rabbit softly sighing before speaking again. “Hi, my name is…,” she paused, “...my name is Shayla.” The cat’s eyes widened as it realized what she was doing. It smiled softly before speaking, its voice jagged with sorrow. “Hello, Shayla. My name is…” The cat paused, it didn’t have a name. “Turtle,” Shayla whispered, “I always thought your name should be Turtle.” She gave a weak smile. “Turtle.” they said. “My name is Turtle.” They sobbed as Shayla took her last breath. Turtle later took Shayla by the scruff and gently set her near the water upon a large smooth rock. Shayla always liked rocks. Turtle mourned for the rest of their lost friends, eventually falling asleep on the rocks. There was once a cat, white as broken eggshells and cold winter eyes that hated the feeling of crunchy leaves. Crunchy 141

leaves sounding like small bones being snapped by pale fingers, silencing forests and until it invites bitter darkness and a cowering moon. The cat was given a name by a dying rabbit along the shore of a river. It was now alone, but it was better that way. Fall was its least favorite season, November its least favorite month, and the full moon forever a curse.

[The Glowing Circle] W i l m a 142

[Glowing Circle] W i l m a Glowing circle way up high Glowing circle in the sky Glowing circle with all its honor It makes me feel so much calmer I wish to see it closer I wish to see it over and over Sometimes it is smaller and not as round I love to look at it from here on the ground Even if it is small and not as glowy Yet today it is big and very showy A beautiful glowing circle At the peak of its glowing cycle I love the light that it provides All of my fears subside For the glowing moon is in my sight I don’t want to go to sleep tonight Just for tonight, I want to stay awake To appreciate the moon and all the light it makes I love my glowing circle It is my favorite The Full Moon I want to savor it

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[Yukon, Washington.] W i s c o n s i n Not everything stays when you’re all alone Jack London was real, and I’ve been in his home He told me a story, he sang me a tone I read him like music, I read him like notes I’m not at the party I’m not at home I’m lost in the wild In the wild alone So tell me a story, a story of wolves Tell me a story of frostbite and hope Bare skin and bone, bare skin and bone I’ve seen you around before I don’t love you anymore Caught you crawling on your floor Drunk and tired, just once more I daydream in the night We’re awake and it’s alright I’ve seen you around before I don’t know you anymore.

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[Just A Little Bit Haunted] Y E S S I R “Jamie, my arms are getting tired. Could you hold my candy bag for me?” Oliver said. It was October 31st, and I was out Trick-or-Treating with my best friend Oliver. I was a year older than him. I was in fifth grade and he was in fourth. I only know him because we are in a split class together at school. “Come on Oliver, we are almost done Trick-or-Treating. Only a few more houses then we finish the whole block!” I said, trying to get him excited. The only houses we have left are Ms. Gremlys’ house, Sovas’ house, and a big house that looks abandoned. Some other kids say it’s haunted, but I don’t think that’s true. Those kids are always making up stories for attention. We arrive at Ms. Gremlys’ house. Ms. Gremly is a grumpy old woman who has never left her house in years. I knock on Ms. Gremlys’ door. Oliver hides behind me. “Oliver, you’re such a scaredy cat!” As soon as I say that, Ms. Gremly opens her door and a abby cat comes running out. “MARU, GET BACK HERE NOW!” yells Ms. Gremly, “Ugh, whatever. What do you kids want?” “Uhhhh. Happy Halloween?” I said with a nervous voice. “Do you idiots want something or what?” she said, talking back to us. She looks at our candy bags then at us then the candy bag then back at us. “Oh, you want me to put something in your bag? Well, here you go. Now leave before I call the police.” She puts one thing in each bag. I got a razor with a floral design on it and Oliver got a small pack of mint gum. “Aww man, I would be happy about this gum if I could have it,” Oliver said madly. Oliver has braces and he’s not proud of them. He is 145

really mad that he has braces because a bunch of the kids at school think he is a so-called “nerd” and now that he has braces, well, you get the idea. He got braces because he had an overbite but he thinks his teeth were fine. We leave Ms. Gremlys’ house and start to walk to Sovas’ house. Sova is one of our best friends but she doesn’t celebrate Halloween so we told her that we would come over to say hi. We arrive at her house and she opens the door with a mad face. “What do you want?” she asked, annoyed. “Uhhh. It’s me and Oliver. You asked us to come over…” “OH it’s just you, sorry, we have been getting so many, uhhh what do you call it again?” she asked. “Trick-or-Treaters?” “Yeah, that.” “Anyways, you wanna come in?” Sova asked, “It’s really cold outside.” “Sure!” I said, “Come on Oliver.” We walk into Sova’s house and greet her parents. She invites us to sit on the couch. “So, are you ready for the math test tomorrow?” Sova asked. “Wait, we have a test tomorrow?!” I said surprised. “Yeah.” Oliver said, “Don’t you remember? I texted you asking if you want to come over to study but you didn’t answer.” I pull out my phone and see the text. “Uhhh… Oops,” I said, embarrassed. “Come on dude, you have got to get better at checking your texts,” Oliver said. “Yeah, I text you all the time and you never answer,” Sova agreed. “Uhh, Oliver and I should go now, sorry Sova,” I said as I tried to change the subject. “Wait what?” Oliver questioned, confused. I grab Oliver’s arm and pull him out the door. “Sorry, Sova!” I said in a fast paced voice. “Uhh bye?” Sova said, confused. I shut the door and Oliver and I started walking to the final house. 146

“This is it, what the other kids say is the haunted house!” I said excitedly. “Umm, I’m not so sure if we should knock,” Oliver said. “Come on Oliver, don’t be such a baby,” I said walking up to the door. I started to get a little bit nervous, and when I start to get nervous I say things to distract me. “Wow, this is a really old door handle. Who would keep this old thing?” I said as I chuckled nervously, “It’s just a little haunted.” I knock on the door. The door slowly creaked open and what I saw was really old, like, medieval old. Oliver and I walk in slowly. I looked at this statue and it was in a battle pose. I look away at all of the old torches that were almost burnt out. “AAAHHH!!!!” Oliver screamed. “ARE YOU OKAY?!” I asked. I was scared. “T-t-the..” Oliver muttered. “THE WHAT?!” I yelled. “THE STATUE!” Oliver yelled. I look at the statue and Oliver and I scream in horror. The statue had moved their position in a 31.70 degree angle. The Dab. DUN! DUN! DUN! The End.

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lunar eclipse

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149

[Coins]

A i

H u a

Let me drone on forth As a sand traveler would Stepping upon fine glass My breath will become shallow on this vast land Throat rugged and raw Tongue bright rouge Iron coating my taste buds But I will walk Peacefully while vultures circle me in their murderous waltz As if my half dead heart called out to their song A song where villages laugh at a stumbling merchant Adorned in blue and gold Foreign emerald eyes piercing their shops Calloused hands reaching oh so out Offering new As a song overpowered my own Echoing behind like a melody Against my harmony Filled with lovers looking away Fellows falling into graves Souls souring at my indifference I have droned on forth Since the sunset years ago Seen planes of crooked ruins Forests a blaze in silence And kings who gaze with malice Queens who stare in spite… 150

I have droned on forth Leaving my heart behind For coins staining my fingers With the scent of blood I have droned on forth With a name My name known by theys, hims, and hers Youths, wise, and witless The pricks of wealth And the proud in poverty I drone forth with this name One now connected to me Merchant with stained hands And a shattered harmony heart A name I sparingly utter even though it was given to me with love Given to me with emerald eyes and a smile A smile I saw for the last time behind a setting sun Letting the odd letters fall off the tip of my tongue and onto my lips Only for few fellows who listen well A name that I carry as a reminder To those who dare cross me And to myself For blood stained coins will be the death of me And the cause for many others

151

[Blue]

A n o n y m o u s

Blue Blue is the color of the sky where the sun spends most of its time lighting up our world and where the moon takes over late at night to darken our world so we can sleep Blue the color of the ocean The color of the deep blue sea the color that the moon reflects off of on late summer nights The sea that smells of salt water No matter what time of year you’re there Blue is the color of the ice cold water that we drink every single day Blue is the color of blueberries The delectable sweet berries that are put in pies and muffins and many other sweet treats Blue the color of the rain On those days where it’s pouring outside And the strongest sound is the pitter patter of the rain hitting your umbrella Blue the color right outside your window late at night when you’re trying to fall asleep The last thing you see is blue Blue is everywhere You’ll see it if you pay attention 152

[demeter] a n o n y m o u s Ever since Demeter was little, she had been creepily obsessed with nature. The townsfolk thought it was ironic, her name was Demeter after all. When her parents had named her, they didn’t think twice of how using a goddess’s name on a child was discouraged and forbidden. They say the god whose name was stolen sought out vengeance-- either that or they possessed the child with amused smirks. Her parents always gossiped to each other behind her back about her seemingly mundane obsession, “Oh,” Her mother would say, “Don’t you think it’s odd that Demeter spends so much time outside?” “Yes,” Her father would reply, ruffling his hair, “The village folk says she skips school just to stare at the flowers right outside the cathedral doors.” The gossip turned less into quiet whispering and more into yelling matches with frequent lectures. It started when Demeter brought home a decapitated bunny. In her right hand was the bunny’s head, held by its ears. Dull eyes faced the ground as the previously fluffy hair was now matted in dirt and blood. The body was split off from the head and was still bleeding, letting small droplets of red liquid to hit the wooden, polished floor. The most disturbing thing about the whole situation, however, was that Demeter was smiling. There was a demonic look in her eyes, and she smiled and tilted her head at her parents, who looked at her in pure horror as she said, “Mom, Dad, look what I did!” They sent Demeter to the local priest after that incident and begged him to fix their demon child. He stared tight lipped at the girl with dirty red hair and hellish eyes. A bead of sweat dribbled from his cheek to his chin and he glanced warily at her parents. He gulped. 153

“Well-” He cleared his throat, “What did she do? Are there any concerns?” Demeter’s parents stared deep into his pupils before they said, “Look on her arm. There’s a mark.” And so the priest looked at Demeter’s left arm and a small gasp slipped through. His eyes bulged and he immediately stumbled away. “A demon’s child,” he breathed. The child smiled and covered her goddess mark. It was pure blood red that spread like veins across her arm, and little flowers covered it. The crimson roses seemed embedded into skin, and it was obvious something satanic had taken its claws deep in this child. Weak and cowardly, the priest shunned the child and her parents from the cathedral. That was the worst mistake the town could’ve made. Within the next couple of years, bad omens started to befall the small town and its large cathedral. Sicknesses and illnesses started spreading like wildfire, infecting the old and elderly. Red vines started mysteriously growing around, with crimson blossoms decorating the long squid plant. Rumors spread faster than disease about Demeter, and she was promptly kicked out by force for witchcraft. The priest and parents had watched that day as she was shunned by the crowd, and into the forest. They laughed. “Go join your kind, you freak!” they hollered. “Bye, nature freak!” “Nobody liked you anyways!” Demeter smiled during this, now a ripe sixteen year old. Her spiked teeth shone as she vanished into the forest, infecting the land with her veiny arms. She was the vines, the vines were her. Her skin was the velvety ground and the ground was her grotesque grey skin. The town would live to regret their choices, Demeter swore it.

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[my nightmare] a n o n y m o u s I sat on the couch, alone. It was around 6 AM. But it was pitch black outside. The sun wasn’t up yet. And my only source of light was some crummy lamp. I was just sitting there, watching the TV in the dark. It seemed normal at first glance. But it wasn’t. My stuff kept getting moved around. But I wasn’t the one moving them. My shoes disappeared. So did my charger. And the case on my phone kept coming on and off, on and off. I freaked out. So, I grabbed my things and started to go upstairs. But as I was walking out, I decided to turn around. I don’t know why, but I did. I had some sort of gut feeling. And when I turned around, I saw a man behind the couch. A man I had not seen before. A man that did not live in my house. And yet, here he was. He was sitting in a rocking chair. He held a newspaper in front of his face, but slowly lowered it when I saw him. He had bright blue eyes. He had a piercing smile. His teeth were slightly yellowed. The smile stretched across his whole face. He looked like the Cheshire Cat. He had thick black glasses. He was balding, but the hair he had left was brown. He was wearing a green sweater vest over a white button up and khakis. In the dream, I didn’t recognize him, but as I look back on it, I know I’ve seen him somewhere. I just don’t know where. Our brains don’t just create new faces. Every person we see in our dreams is someone that we’ve seen before. So where have I seen this man? I think I saw him on some sort of sitcom. How could a character meant to bring joy and laughter turn into something so disturbing? You know when you read a book and something bad happens to the main character and they say they can’t scream? That’s what this was like. Usually whenever I read something like that in a book, I get sort of annoyed with the character. I would wonder why the character can’t just scream. How could they be in that much shock? Just scream. But now I under155

stand. I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t run. I could only stand there. My breath grew faster and heavier. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I stared at the man and he stared back at me. He opened his mouth, and what came out of it wasn’t human. He sounded like an animal crying out in pain. Maybe not even an animal. Maybe an alien. But it was loud. So, so loud. Loud enough to wake me up. I sat up in my bed. My breathing was still fast and my heart was racing. I looked around. My cats were all staring at me. I felt a small sense of relief. But I was still terrified. I’m glad my cats were there. They gave me a feeling of relief. But I still felt really uneasy. I started to cry. I wanted my mom. But I was too scared to move out of my bed and I didn’t want to bother her. So all I could do was cry. My only comfort was my cats, but they all jumped off my bed and left. That made me cry more. At least the lights in my room were on. I really don’t know what I would have done if the lights had been off. I didn’t want to go to sleep in case I had another nightmare, but I didn’t want to stay awake because I was afraid of that man coming back. So I just cried. I hugged my stuffed pig named Charlie. I hugged him tight. His fur soaked up all of my tears. There were a lot of them. I couldn’t stop crying. I felt like I would be crying all night. But eventually, I cried myself back to sleep.

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[So tired] A n o n y m o u s

So tired. My enervated brain crawls up to his sleepy little desk and manages to scribble down a note or two to tell my muscles. With an exhausted exhale, he drops the message into the nervous system. There’s not much traffic but the signal drives slow, like a weary old drunkard on a quiet night in a quiet town, drifting a few miles an hour all alone on the side of the road. So tired. The muscles try to pick something up: a shock, a pulse that tells them to tap my face or give my eyelids everything they’ve got to pry themselves open. What does coffee taste like again? I can’t remember, the idea of anything or anyone being able to stimulate my barely animated corpse seems foreign. So SO tired. Little men with hardhats and bright vests drag down the big blue beaten bags below my eyes lethargically pulling their grabber claws and yellow vehicles which beep sweet nursery rhymes of soft enchantment. So SO…so…........so.......................…zzz

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[help me wesley] M a r i n

158

R a c i n e

[A label on a sticky note] C e r e n i t e e

p e r a z a

When you arrived, a feeling formed, but it was so sudden I had no time to react. Rather it was like a train racing towards me, distinct and overt. Though I saw in plain sight this train barreled towards me I couldn’t help but stare, standing as still as a statue on the rusted metal rails beneath me. Awaiting the inevitable, my fate approaching ever closer, the change without a clear outcome. If I take a step back and adjust my perspective I realize at times you make me flustered, excited, and even happy, though most times, you cause confusion and anxiety. Maybe that’s because our “label” is on a sticky note. The adhesive is unreliable and delicate, the more it is tampered with, the higher probability it will unstick and disappear into the vast world. When the wind carries it away, no evidence of its existence will be left behind. No memories or gifts from our past, it will simply be nothing. You’re inconsistent, causing my straightforward feelings to knot and tangle like thin thread. I occasionally try to rationalize your actions but the outcome remains the same. Running headfirst into this wall of confusion, after thudding into the wall I ponder why the hell I still do this, all while blood as red as a carnelian stone drips from my head. As you see the hurt and evidence of your self-contradiction you attempt to mask the obvious, acting oblivious to the mess you’ve orchestrated. It’s a game, but I did not choose to play. So explain the rules or just declare victory, because this game is not one I intend on playing for much longer.

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[Brighter] E Your soul is a fire Glowing brighter Than any star in the sky Of all the hearts you inspire You’ve captured mine in its entirety

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[Fuzzy Woolen Sweaters] E l i

I started with Buttons. Brown, red, green. Smooth, marbling seeds. I watched them roll through my palm, And into the earth, piled into the little mound. Next came the rain. As it poured, it gushed, it sloshed, it rushedDown, riding the stretching wind, Swirling into the threading seeds, Singing of the sky’s great blue, and the sun’s swirling red. I remember the gorgeous green sprouts, Freckled with sparkling blues, and fiery reds, Spreading, and shifting like fresh watercolor. Breathing in the wind. Then, day by day, week by week, Shooting, weaving vines up the soft bark, Hanging forward, feeling the sun as it baked, With twisting roots, and burling, woolen branches, I saw bloom! My hopes danced with the luscious lilacs and shimmering scarlet. Popping from the threaded branches, The painted leaves of this great tree, Ribbon petals smiled to me, As I looked up to this great woolen tree. Last— The Harvest. 161

Bright Bulbs hang down, Swaying from the flower’s end, Glowing with kind hope. Picked at perfection. When I peel off the skin, I feel its soft fabric. I see its warm scarlet pop. I have: A Fuzzy Woolen Sweater.

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[Pollution Dissolves Me] E r i n

M o r i a r t y

I was beautiful. Invincible, but still weak. Imperfect, but yet perfect. Impossible, but yet here. Clean beaches, never ending coast, coral and currents. Roads smooth, roundabouts perfect. Trees and hills pristine, plums and pears, peonies too. Animals roaming, roaring with every breath. Fresh air, free and fulfilled. Gleaming water, glistening in the sun, glowing with might. Now my beaches are littered, light reflects off lingering garbage. My roads, torn, left in tatters. My trees, little, lining up and losing life. Animals, choking, cables catch, cars smash. Air, darkening, drenched with dirty smoke. Water, cloudy, clear as a concrete car. I was young, spry. Now I’m dying and old. I could be revived, rescued. I could live, could love, could laugh once more. If only things could change, if only certain things took place. If only people could find a bin, if only trash was treasure. If only trash could show more meaning, if only more objects were reused. If only more clean ups were possible, 163

if only more people participated. If only people saw what I see, if only people could take a step. Just 1 small step, in the right direction. If only is all I can say, if only is all I can wish. I have tried and tried, as have others. But we need more, we need millions. I am but a planet, and can only watch, wait, wring out my tears. So help me. Change me back, bring me to life. For I am dying, and I am your last hope.

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[You] H a l o

A m b e r l y n n

Somehow now it’s worse Somehow it’s so much harder to be away from you After I’ve seen you right in front of me, After I’ve felt your skin, hugged you tight, and kissed your lips Now I have more to miss Now I miss the soft scent of your cologne, like wood-wicked candles, and spices, lingering on my clothing after I’m with you Now I miss the way you rub my hand softly with your thumb, when our hands are clasped together The way you smile and stare at me when I speak, that goofy straight-toothed grin, with those smile lines that enhance your soft, warm, cheeks The way you freak out excitedly when we say the same thing, at the same time The way you clutch onto me tightly in the cold, laughing at our rosy pink noses I miss the way you chuckle at my stupid jokes I miss you more each time you go So stay with me. I stared at you. Closely. I noticed every bump in your nose The tired, oval shape of your eyes Your torn up fingernails embedded in your crooked fingers Soft smile lines outlining your mouth Even softer lips with the silver ring pierced through the bottom Every freckle Every blemish Everything. I adore you. You’re perfect. 165

[Sleep] I .

M .

B r o w n

Most nights I lie awake hoping that tomorrow won’t arrive, hoping that the night would last forever Some mornings I want to go back to sleep and sleep forever, not because I want to die but for the same reason I wish the night would never end; I don’t want to have to deal with a very close friend of mine named depression, and depression here decided that besides losing friends I also need trust issues and the constant fear that I’m going to die alone because of the worry that my friends are going to stab me in the back and decide that I was not good enough for them or that I’m annoying or I’m too which way and that. And even after dealing with that all day, it still won’t go away and still follows me when I try to sleep and have a good night I don’t know how else to end this so thank you. Thank you for letting me tell you, this is why I don’t sleep at night.

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[Crying] I a n

L a f o n t a i n e

you can’t tell that i’m crying, my words can’t fill the air i can’t cry salt and water, drops of dust upon the chair. reaching out to touch you but you slip through my fingers whispering formless words, whose breath can’t drift between the lines. wrapped in the darkness silent ships upon a bend no words befall our lips, the little life we had to spend. trapped behind a moon-scathed mirror, entwined between two rooms the bitter leaves of longing, taste like snowy afternoons where you stirred a pot of pea soup, somehow picking out a bone humming strange songs, by a sleeping telephone. kettle boiling over, after you’ve slipped into sleep away in peaceful dreams, ‘cause you can’t hear my ghostly weep. life feels like a dream, 167

as a wayward ghost alone wandering through the world, until i finally find a home. all i want’s to say hello, as i never said goodbye but we will say hello, where the moon climbs up the sky. i could bring you death tomorrow, but there’s no sense fighting time this moment together, is forever sublime.

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[X-Katana Mecha-Zoom] I s a a c

H a m a n n

Whoosh! Something flies in Woah! The people awe You! The enemy yells Hello! You say cocky You will fall! He shouts Zoom! His blade swings Bam! Your shield blocks Kaboom! Your blaster goes Boom! The enemy is hit Woo! The people cheer Grrrr! The enemy growls Vroom! His engines start Swoosh! His mech goes VVVV! The blade charges up Woosh! You swing your shield Crack! Your shield breaks Crack! The enemies core is revealed Hmm! You smile with an idea Boom! Your blaster goes Boom! The enemy is hit Swoosh! Your blade goes Crack! The enemy core goes Nooo! The enemy screams Bam! You punch the enemy in the air Boom! The mech explodes Woo! The people cheer Hmm! You smile, you’re a hero 169

[untitled.] i s a b e l

i would dump it. the great complicator remnant forever.

drew her on. like crumbling infrastructure. passionate say. the trees

170

[Make Me a Cherry Blossom Tree] J a i l a Lay me to rest in silk and cotton, Fibers that will rot with me. I want my body to become one with the world That kept it protected for so long. I told my mother To bury me in a box that would break I want to be allowed to seep into the soil as all living things should, Keep the chemicals out of my skin Let me go naturally. I ask her to keep the funeral quick, But let my father read to me and tuck me into my final bed, And allow herself comfort in knowing Her youngest feels at home in the soil. Nothing can hurt me here, No matter how hard they try. I want to breathe life into the world again, Put cherry blossom seeds into my mouth, Allow me to grow old, Give me a chance to see the light once again. I’d be young again, A sprout my family could take care of, A sapling my little cousins could watch evolve, A tree that invites life to dance around it, 171

A continuous reminder of the vibrancy of youth. May the birds land on the tree I grew from the cracks in my jaw, The calcium left in my bones, The happiness I left behind. May the birds make nests on my branches to hold their babies, Feed off the cherries that fall in the wind, Take their first flight off the limb I grew from my death. May I be dressed in pink every spring like always. May life continue to happen all around my body, Picnics held in the shade I cast down, Proposals made under the falling petals, First kisses in summertime at dusk. May life bloom from the pieces left of me, Even if I am unable to participate.

172

[The Depth of Eye Contact] K .

N i c k e l

You said it so well And it resonated in my mind The ripple made a noise loud enough for me to find it miles away In a pond underground where it wouldn’t be called such other than dirt Or known at all It had dug itself a hole Where it could suppress the problems it had made for itself and pretend that everything is fine It’s fine therefore feel nothing at all because if it couldn’t feel what’s prominently real then it couldn’t feel what is else Known by a mask Numbed by the effort it took to hide its own ideals As so many others did Before there was known how to deal with what isn’t supposed to be real But it’s real But aside It’s back now After hours of digging I’ve had my mind back And I’m not sure what to think yet But my skull isn’t empty anymore And I have a headache for how fast my thoughts are running and my feelings are breathing and 173

my hands are thinking and it’s so much feeling I don’t know how to do with it It’s so much more than what it was So much more than what I was To say the least. You’ve given my mind back to me and it’s provided space to be all of who I am It feels so much like Oh. I don’t know Oh I don’t know I don’t have any words To try for a language I’ll start To try for a language To express my needs I’ll start Please listen To me

174

Sol Lucet Omnibus R i v e r

A l m s t e d

175

[brother] k a d e n c e love binds the suffrage tied to the end of a rusted needle threading the rotted lineage fate to fallen. victim to the puppeteer, shifting the universe in light of dirt upon the skin in which you share ancestry. the choice is yours, avenge the ignominious taste the berry unripened juice searing your tongue. bathe in spoiled sorrow fingertips wrinkled slowly as you sulk in consequence ill to the core your heart corroding poisoned by your morals a tainted tenderness intimacy stretched into a fine line crossed at mortality the dawn of erupted sins. the sun swallowed by darkness, a signal to the end.

176

[Broken Glass] 5 t h

G r a d e

L o g a n

Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence My mom cries louder than a coyote, Wayne screams at her “SHUT UP WOMAN!!!!!” (Wayne is who my mom was dating) Glass shatters BAAAMMM!!! As soon as all the yelling stops I call my grandma, She said she would call the police, She said they would be there soon, When soon felt like an eternity, I heard a knock on the door, BANG BANG BANG!!!!! I got out of the bedroom barely making it without cutting my feet, A storm was striking and it would only get stronger, I open the door, There the police stood in front of me, I had told them everything at that point, Then a flood of emotions passed as they went to go find my mom and Wayne, Anger, guilt, relief, depression, and horror, My life was always bad at those apartments, But tomorrow at school I painted on a smile to trick them to not worry, You know they say “time cures all ills.” But the anger, terror, and disgust would not go away ANY time soon towards Wayne, But now I live with my grandparents, And my mom lives with her brother, Let this be a message to you life is NEVER always nice, There will be horrid times and times where you’re on cloud nine, So always be happy for what you have. 177

[Broken Glass (Remastered)] L o g a n

B u r n e l l

Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence

I was sitting in my bedroom shared with my mom My mother and her boyfriend Wayne had been fighting more and more They always fought from time to time but not like this Not like they are now. My mom always said that when you fight it just means that you love each other It reminds me of my friend Lily. She was like a sister to me but she didn’t come to the apartments anymore Just recently her dad died And we used to fight a bit, that’s even how we met We were throwing water balloons at each other and when she threw hers at me it hurt I got mad And tried to hurt her back And from then an amazing friendship was born Mom and Wayne had been yelling at each other for a long time now, They must have been drunk My grandma always called it the demon, still does Loud crashing Loud, loud, loud screaming They wouldn’t stop until I heard something break against a wall Silence absolute deafening silence I rushed for my tablet to text my grandma over messenger that they got in a big fight She called a phone, I can’t quite remember whose I found the phone and answered 178

She told me that everything would be ok and that she would get help I sat there sobbing The silence only got louder and louder Until there was a quiet knock on the front door I got up and yelled “Coming!” I got out of the room and stepped into the hallway leading to the front door Across the hallway was the kitchen I looked down at the floor and saw millions of small broken pieces of glass Broken glass That was what caused that loud final crash, they threw things at each other I stepped over it and somehow didn’t get my feet cut I would say lady luck was on my side If only, if only it wasn’t this horrible dreaded night that I didn’t cut my feet I got to the door and saw a very large police officer, on his badge read ‘sheriff’ I answered his questions and got on some snow boots to walk across The broken glass I sat on my bed hoping, that this night could just be For it to finally end.

179

[Lonely] L u c i

D .

As I looked down on Earth, I wondered what they were up to? Did they even realize I was gone? I have been on the moon’s surface for so long, that I was beginning to wonder if my own family knew I existed. I am glad I brought as much food and air as I would need to survive my three-year mission to study the humans from afar. I hope they cannot see me on the nights the moon is full, that would blow our whole mission away! Wait? You can’t have thought I was a measly human! Honestly, you people are silly. What is this math, science, school you speak of? Look, kid, all you need is some indestructible metal of unknown origin, and some explosions, and BOOM! A rocket. It’s not that hard. I mean, have you ever stepped foot on stars yet? No? Silly humans. Silly, silly humans. You say it would hurt! Do you not have the mysteries of the universe and the secrets of eternal life figured out yet? What’s my name you ask? Well it’s Uksrdcx Ccgtg Viov, which I believe translates to something called a cipher in your language of english. No, no, you need not worry…I am not gonna take over your world. My horde of crazy alien buddies will do that for me. It’s nothing personal, we just think it was rather rude, the fact you never cared to visit. Oh stop your whining, it’s never fair, the cards we dealt, that’s why it’s called a hand, not every human has the same number of fingers. Oh wait? You do? Oh, my apologies. Welp, time to cause an apocalypse. Oh right... I am alone...

180

[An argument between skies, the story of earth’s demise.] Luna and Stella stared at each other, as tension shot through the room. This was war. As Luna eyed the game of earth that they were playing moments before with newfound hatred in her eyes. Stella seemed no more pleased at the game’s cold direction. “Luna, you are nothing but a stupid mirror eyeing my moves and copying.” Stella was about to continue before a discontented growl from her opponent cut her off. “Oh so you think I have a choice!” Luna growled so low that it shook the earth. “You- you- YOU NO FUN, THINKS YOU’VE WON, NOBODY WITH A HORRID SHINE THAT DOES NOTHING TO THE WORLD IF IT WEREN’T FOR MY EYES!” Before Stella could react, with a cold stare in her eyes, Luna grabbed the game and smashed it on the ground, and, without breaking eye contact, left the room. Earth had shattered as the moon crashed into it, taking all the pieces with it.

L u c i

D .

181

[My Heart is Like a Lunar Eclipse] My heart is like a Lunar Eclipse when you come near Red as my face Dreamy as my eyes following your movement You are similar to a Lunar Eclipse too You take everyone’s breath away as soon as they spot you Even those who have came to know you still tell about you like a legend Like a jewel from above A Solar Eclipse may darken the sky but you light up in everyone’s eye I hope what I mean when I say My heart is a Lunar Eclipse for you everyday M a e

182

F e s h a z i o n

[love letter to our star] m a i a !

: )

dear sun i believe im in love with you you are so bright so warm and vast and i know my pathetic vessel could never touch you never caress your surface never press my lips to yours i would shrivel i would disintegrate my skin would melt and bubble and char and my hair would catch aflame and my clothes would burn away, leaving my body as a gift to you my bones would turn black and i would be gone but say i could join you up there i would walk alongside you every day hold your smoldering hand and cross the sky dawn til dusk never leaving your brilliant side i’ll sleep curled up beside you while the moon takes her turn our limbs entwined, your steady breath lulling me to sleep never chilly despite our bed being the stars for you are my furnace my gentle ache of warmth on the back of my neck 183

oh darling all stars burn out and what a supernova you will be you’ll wipe out every child of the earth and when your breath stills mine will as well i’ll stroke your skin a final time and we will die side by side

184

[Exit] M a r s

L .

I exit my body Hovering above I live now in third person Nothing is real, the physical world seems like a complex illusion Sense of freedom mixes with desperation to stay on the ground Cannot leave Not yet Not alone Alone Not alone Not yet I crash back into my body like a spirit being yanked back from death Floating in and out of reality like a wandering vapor. If I play my music louder, sing the words faster, strain my vocal chords till bursting If I think longer, find the answer I’m looking for Maybe that’s enough to tether myself to this plane of existence. Perhaps it’s all psychosomatic, nothing more than a temporary twist in the mind. That’s all it is.

185

[The least you could do was just tell me a lie] M e r c e d e s

Sometimes when we talk I get the urge to tell you I love you I don’t always say it though You talk about your mother with me, you speak like she Hung the moon and stars for you Tell me we’d get along It makes me really sad, and I’m afraid to tell you because it’s a me problem that I can’t function around people when they speak of their mothers That an overwhelming jealousy takes me over Holding back tears while singing hymns because I watched a mother lovingly touch her teenage daughter And I stopped knowing how to function I’ve told you it made me sad before You apologized, and I felt bad Because you said you’d stop talking about her but I wanted to know So bad Even if I lost control of my emotions at 8:07 on a Tuesday evening I think you forgot though I think I forgot too 186

6 months of your “I missed you” False promises And puppy love compliments I’ve thought about yelling at you Ghosting you And forgetting you “I think I’m going to go to sleep now” Sometimes I don’t say it because I have to think about it Finger over the send button I shouldn’t have to think about it that long Or maybe I’m wrong Sometimes when we talk I get the sudden urge to tell you I love you I don’t always say it though My friends aren’t horribly fond of you They used to be Telling me how nice you sounded Then you said something dumb Then something dumb again And again Deep choked breaths in hallways with concerned friends Wanting you to guess why I’d cried those days Because how could you not know? I gave up, got over it 187

“He’s tying you down! And after everything he said!” No Okay I wouldn’t know anyway I’m over it I swear Let’s go back to normal for the sake of consistency Maybe you’ll forget Maybe we both should 6 months is hard to explain Sometimes when we talk I get the urge to tell you I love you I guess you’d already know that though

188

[untitled] t r i n i t y

189

[Gen-ethics] N o a

U .

Clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats Guide RNA can now target and find a sequence Like a sniper of genetic bases slyly circling around a double helix Our sights aimed at any weakness We laugh holding the strength to cut and reform With shiny badges claiming we could single handedly erase diseases What wishful thinking No warnings on this box Offering up any changes that they want Just wait and see how much money they’ll drop Yes, that Achilles heel Sometimes eyes painted with greed and filled with treasure try to steal A little too much Turning base metals to gold has a certain appeal But we all know chemistry was the new alchemy After alchemy was deemed something to throw in the fire Now only our history is immortal In essence, each of our ideas seem to have a secret half-life making them expire Next example, take cheetahs Seemingly unremarkable but one look at their DNA And you’d wonder if their sequences were repeated This is because they’re all so similar Take a skin graft from one and it works on any other cause the code is quite familiar 190

But they hold their building blocks too tightly Balancing upon the edge of evolution oh so lightly This is one place where you’ll fall apart by sticking together For if disease conquers one then who’s the one left looking clever All the cheaters are going down tethered To their perfect genetics Now does that sound like something you’ve heard before Imagine pathogens feeding on spotted yellow cats and their Vibrant ruffled fur growing bleached under the skeletal stacks The merciless sun glares down Not met with a single outlier Not one oddball with a unique chance to overcome We need abnormalities in order to be the survivors So perfect mind and eyes and hair Perfect health and health to spare All this striving for control We design our children how we want them to grow We bend them to our own will Sleep easy knowing they won’t resist they’ll swallow our pills We raise hungry fists building walls to keep out But with every bridge we build a prison And on the inside is what we hoped a force to reroute At last from humans we mapped our genes Forgetting corn and sidewalk weeds And with these maps we reach a new branch of life We design perfection first Then we design war and endless opportunities A basis for knife and spoon fights All this because of an microscopic enzyme called Cas9 Hasn’t anyone remembered The way we tried to wipe out so called lower life These molecular scissors soon will hit the ground at a run Sprinting faster than a cheetah

191

Faster than a chemical reaction Faster than any ray from the heat of the sun Quicker than a bolt of lightning Into the actions that can’t be undone Isn’t evolution frightening? Are we prepared for what we will become?

192

[The Warmth of Yesterday] N o r a

V a n R e e s

the sky was soft and white, frost kissed blades of grass, the air was cold and twirled with my Fingertips. i remember these days of yesterday, when snowflakes rested their weary heads on the edge of my nose, and the indigo hues of Nightfall brushed my eyes to close and sleep when warm milk passed through rosy lips and a yellow night light shined in my bedroom. i miss the drowsiness of December, when the sky was soft and white, when periwinkle curtains were drawn open, and grandmother kissed me good-morning while milk boiled on the stove, and snow fell just beyond the window. 193

[A once in a lifetime deal] P a y t o n

W o o d s

It was a day like any other, the sun was out, the birds were chirping. I lazily got out of bed. I opened my closet door and grabbed the shirt that stood out to me. I put on some pants, did my hair, and brushed my teeth. I slowly settled downstairs. My mom was by the stove. The amazing scent of sausage, pancakes, and eggs filled the air. My mom was usually too lazy to get up and make a decent breakfast in the morning. She said good morning to me. I asked what was the occasion. Then my eyes saw two things: a brand new outfit for me, the one I always wanted and a big present on the floor addressed to me. My mom said the package appeared on our door and that the outfit she bought for me. The breakfast was because she felt like doing it this morning. I walked to the present, approaching it slowly. It hadno return address or any tag. I ripped open the beautiful wrapping paper saving the moment. To my surprise inside a big box was a little box. At first, I thought someone was stalking me and scamming me. Then slowly opening the box I found an old locket with a picture of me in it and a fifty-dollar bill. Why a locket, who was it from? I had so many questions in my head. It was finally time for me to go to school. I grabbed the locket and put it on. At school, there was no talking or anything. It was a normal day. Everyone seemed to be pleased by my acquaintance. The teachers were happy everyone was happy. Until my enemy, Kaela Linsen stood up in first-period geography class. She said, “Hey everyone guess what I found right by the school entrance.” In her hand, she was holding my locket with my picture. She continued, “Let me show you who this locket belongs 194

to. Oh what do you know, it belongs to Olivia Graysen.” She also said, “Well finders keepers losers weepers.” She put on the locket but at that moment everything froze, was I having a panic attack like in movies, or did everything actually freeze. Noah, Jonathan, Kaela, Olivia, and everyone else were frozen. I decided to run and grab the locket. And because she would never know who did it, I punched her, but at that moment the unthinkable happened. She unfroze, my fist still at her face. She started screaming in pain because I gave her a bloody nose. She pointed at me and said, “I think it’s broken.” And of course like any teacher I was sent to the principal’s office for bullying, without my locket. After I checked in and was in fear to talk to the principal I seemed disappointed and started thinking was this really how I act. I had perfect grades and attendance and was very kind but here I was. Principal Jankins came out of her office and called me almost like I was at the doctor’s. My heart rushed. I had never been to her office. And I knew that’s where all the bad kids go and there I was sitting in the chair. At first, she had a disappointed look. As she was starting for the phone I broke out into tears. Wishing I could start the day over. And it worked. I was back in front of the school at eight forty-two. Just before class. Ms. Jankins waved at me. I waved back with a sense of guilt. Then I knew that the locket was magical and that was one of my wishes. And I didn’t need it, I just had to touch it to unlock its power. I also wished for one hundred million dollars. Here I am two years later by my mansion 18 Lambos and our big acre yard with an amusement park. And a water park.

195

[philophobia] p i p each time is an epiphany. that this feeling is ephemeral and that the high is short lived. i thrive on the twilight the single moment right before the love is gone right before the sun sets. i seek the paradox knowing that this is the beginning of the end. knowing that our eclipse has started to end, and my moon will soon part from his sun. the constant reminder of the philophobia embedded in my brain. telling me to break it off before i get used to the light and the warmth that his sun brings, or else risk my faint little moon being plunged into the darkness when his sun sets without me.

196

[Silence,Silence] R .

S .

G a r d n e r

I hear pencils scrape The pulling of tape Shame that talkings not aloud Because I work better in the loud In the quiet noises are profound Every time I hear a sush I feel myself begin to rush To bad we work in hush Because in the loud I flurush

197

[Diesel Days] R . Cracked sidewalks Chipped rocks Bird flocks Smell of gas Dead grass Broken glass Crows squawk Friends talk I walk Street lights blink Sewers stink Roads link Trees loom Cars zoom Exhaust Fume Dogs run Blotted sun Kids have Fun Moss grows Muddy clothes Water froze Brick walls Sewage falls Lost Baseballs Old Home Garden gnome Patches of Brome Thorn vines 198

S .

G a r d n e r

Tall pines Street signs Dirt pile Broken tile Walk a mile Rain drops Lane swaps Bus stops

199

moon janitors y a r a h

200

[Mr. Roberts And The Old House On The Hill]

R u b y

S .

It was early in the morning and Will Roberts sits at his desk everyday watching the likes and views slowly go down. One day it’s 15,000, another day 10,000 and soon it’s only 100. Mr. Roberts, not knowing what to do, opens his comments and reads them. One comment caught his attention, “You should go to a haunted house. Like if you agree,” it said. Only 25 likes though. Mr. Roberts knew he needed something new to entertain people. He looked out his window and stared at a house on top of a hill. Mr. Roberts jumps out of his chair and grabs a bag shoving various pieces of clothing in it and his camera and runs outside opening his car door. Mr. Roberts drives up to the old crooked house on top of the hill, one hand clutching the steering wheel and the other holding onto his camera. He closes the car door and enters the house. Wind blows in his face as he opens the huge door to be met with a small living room, a door to his left and a staircase leading to the 2nd floor. Mr. Roberts turns his camera on with a click and explores the house. He opens the door to the left and enters an old timey kitchen, the lights still work but have a bit of a flicker. There is another door in the room that was left open, Mr. Roberts could see a washer and dryer, He guesses it’s the laundry room and moves on back to the living room and up the stairs. The stairs go up another floor but Mr. Roberts decides to stay on the 2nd floor exploring all the rooms. After a bit of ex201

ploring he concludes that all the rooms just have an odd wallpaper, a bed, and a nightstand. In Mr. Roberts’ eyes, he thinks this house is uninteresting and needs something cool to shock the viewers. “Ahem,” Mr. Roberts clears his throat then turns the camera around so it’s facing him. “You see folks I am in the very requested old and spooky house that sits on top of this hill in my town,” he says, deepening his voice. “The second I stepped into this house I was greeted with the howl of the wind, ‘’ Mr. Roberts paused as if he was thinking. “And the wind whispered welcome when I walked in,” he said. Then turned the camera off to give the viewers suspense. He goes up to the third floor. There are three doors. Mr. Roberts opens the first door on his left, nothing interesting about it, just a closet, it had three shelves all full with board games for children and old batteries. There’s one blanket at the very bottom placed on the floor, folded very carefully. Mr. Roberts guesses that whoever used to live here was neat and organized, but had terrible taste in wall papers. He closes the closet door and walks forward, opening another door on the left of the hallway. This room is a bathroom with rubber ducky wallpapers. The bathroom looked very fancy and vintage. He turns the camera on, pointing it to face the room slowly moving to get a full view of the bathroom. Showing every detail, like the sink tap dripping and the old conditioner bottle only half full. Everything had a gold accent, everything was used but was placed neatly. Then he closes the door and walks across the hall to see another door, Mr. Roberts opens the door and sees a beautiful room with doves hand painted on the walls. There’s a beautiful glass chandelier, a desk, and a king size bed. Mr. Roberts is taken back by the beauty of the room. Then he rushes over and plops himself on the very comfortable mattress. He takes out his computer and uploads his video. After a bit of work he notices his computer is almost dead and he left his charger in the car. He makes his way down the stairs and out the front door, the cool breeze hitting his face. He walks down the pathway towards the driveway. He opens the car door and reaches back 202

to grab his bag, once he is in reach of the bag he grabs it and pulls it out of the car, he swings it around his shoulder onto his back and walks back up the driveway. He makes it to the door and twists the handle, swinging the door open. Once one foot was in the house the wind began to blow into his face and a faint welcome was whistled, Mr. Roberts did not think much of it and went back upstairs. The next day Mr. Roberts continued his lies and recorded another video. “Did you know out back there used to be a pool. One day the parents of two girls decided to fill the pool with cement so they told the girls not to play in the pool but never told them why. Later that evening, the two sisters snuck out to play in the pool. They soon heard footsteps coming and hid under the water to only be pushed under by mud. People say the ghosts of the two girls still haunt the house,” Mr. Roberts says, his voice with a more spooky tone. He then goes out back and shows a place on the patio with uneven cement and says that this is where they died. Only lies ever came out of his mouth. This grown adult should know better, but he doesn’t and that’s gonna be his downfall. Mr. Robert stares at his reflection, his brown hair, dark brown eyes, dark grey pajamas that his mom got him. He gave his “camera smile” then walked over to the king sized bed behind, he laid down and shut his eyes trying to drift off into slumber but an odd presence stopped him from sleeping. He hears a faint laughter and quickly opens his eyes open with fear to see two girls one with a blonde bob the other with long brown hair, Mr. Roberts watches in fear, he was tempted to scream but kept his mouth shut, he didn’t want to upset the girls. He closes his eyes hoping they would leave but his tiredness took over and he fell asleep, in his dreams he can hear the pitter patter of children’s wet feet on the wooden floors. Mr. Roberts wakes up and looks around, his hair messy and his mind still thinking. When he looks around he sees no girls. He gets out of bed and checks the floors looking for water. No water. Mr. Roberts is confused but pushes away the thought and assumes it was just a dream. He walks to the bath203

room with rubber ducky wallpaper and gets ready for the day. Once he is all ready he goes back to the bedroom and grabs his camera, then heads to the kitchen. After he gets to the kitchen he grabs an apple and munches on it thinking of more lies to tell. Soon his apple is practically gone, he tosses it in the trash and sits at the table storming up ideas, sadly no ideas he thought of stood out. Still being a bit sheepish he drags himself upstairs to grab his laptop, still checking for water. Once the laptop is in his hands he begins his way down the stairs, step by step avoiding any nails sticking up from the carpet. His feet hit the carpeted flooring and he turns to his right making his way towards the kitchen door. He sits back down in his chair and opens his laptop checking his emails, notifications, then his videos. Mr. Roberts notices a recent spike in his views, he grins happily. His smile quickly fades as he realizes he has nothing new, he needs something big, something that will blow everyone away. “That’s it!” Mr. Roberts exclaims and hops off his chair and begins rushing into the living room, he runs over to the fire and picks up ash, not caring about how his hands will look. He goes around the house sprinkling bits of ash in places. Lots in the kitchen and the third floor hallway and some by creepy doors. He finishes sprinkling the ash around the house and places his gray hand that’s still covered in ash on a wall to make an imprint. He thinks this is his best idea yet. After he is finished he does his daily activities waiting for the sky to darken and the stars to poke through. He notices the sky darkening. He walks around the house turning off the lights and only leaving dim lamps on, the only sound throughout the house is the pitter patter of two feet and the clicks of the lights turning off. All the lights are out and Mr. Roberts makes his way up the stairs towards the third floor bedroom. His hand reaches out to turn the doorknob, opening into and walking into the room. He grabs his camera and places it on the desk facing him, he clicks the record button and begins speaking. “Hello everyone, as you can see I’m still in this house, nothing very interesting has happened until today,” Mr. Rob204

ert says, leaving a pause for suspense. He leans closer to the camera. “Today I found out that on a full moon just like today, at some point this house caught on fire. Flames bursting out of the house. It’s a dark night and the clouds and fog covered the house. Some say the house looked like the moon shining through clouds, others say it looked like a normal day but this very night I found ash around the house and a handprint on the wall,” Mr. Robert whispered into the camera’s mic. Mr. Roberts picks up the camera still recording and flips it around so it’s no longer pointing at him. He walks out of his room and turns down the hall to show the camera the hand print. He then walks back into the bedroom and shows the beautiful full moon outside his window. Even though Mr. Roberts had seen the view before, the full moon made him stop, he watched the trees sway as if they were dancing, the stars glistening and the moon was like a table centerpiece, a beautiful and important item. Mr. Roberts snapped out of the trance and placed the camera back on the desk facing him. “If anything else happens tonight I will inform you all,” Mr. Roberts pledged. He turns off his camera and walks over to his bed and begins uploading the recording to his laptop to publish. He clicks publish and waits. While he is waiting he starts to feel his eyelids fall and his body relax, not even seconds later he is fast asleep. Mr. Roberts is laying in bed dreaming of who knows what until he hears crackling and he feels his body heat up. He opens his eyes and is met with large flames. He jumps out of bed in a panic and runs out the door burning his hand on a metal doorknob. He runs down the third floor hallway with flames burning and growing in every direction. He feels his face heat up. He needs to get out. He rushes down the stairs and leaps over fallen boards. He is just about to make it out the front door when the chandelier falls and shatters. Glass was thrown everywhere. A huge flame grows in front of the door. Mr. Roberts gasps and covers his mouth running around frantically. He 205

remembers the back door and rushes to the kitchen laundry room. The laundry room door was closed. He opens the door, burning his hand again. Mr. Roberts slams the door behind him. The room was untouched by the fire since the door was closed. He slams the backdoor open and bolts out of the house. Mr. Roberts inhaled lots of smoke and became dizzy. Only sirens can be heard in the background before Mr. Roberts hits the ground with a thump. He opens his eyes and sees a white room with a window and a single balloon by the door. Mr. Roberts is in the hospital. A woman walks into the room wearing dark blue scrubs and has her blond hair up in a bun. After a bit of speaking with the nurse Mr. Roberts learns that they were worried about how much smoke he inhaled and how he hit his head on concrete, he luckily has no major injuries, a few burn marks and some stitches in his head. Mr. Roberts was fine though, he went home and saw his mother. She was sitting on the couch of Mr. Roberts apartment holding a gift with a card. “This is for you,” his mother said with a heart warming smile. Mr. Roberts gently takes the gift and card from his mother. Mr. Roberts opens the card and reads, “Honesty is the fastest way to prevent a mistake from turning into a failure -James Altuche.” Mr. Robert felt guilt slowly rising as the puzzle pieces in his head slowly formed. Everything he lied about came true. The wind speaking, the two girls, the house burning down, the more he lied the worse it got. He hugged his mother and thanked her, then he opened the gift. A new laptop. “I knew you lost your old laptop so I got you a new one, do great things with this,” the woman said, giving her son another heart warming smile. Mr. Roberts did what his mother told him, instead of posting untruthful experiences he deleted them all no matter how many likes or views. Then he wrote a blog about his experience, no lies this time. Everything he said was the truth. His blog and writing became a hit when it was published, News reporters asking to have a word, many interviews. The money he earned from being on television and ads he spent to rebuild the 206

house on the hill. He kept the crazy wallpapers but modernized the house. Mr. Robert soon lived there, never telling a lie again. Well, maybe a few white lies here and there but the house was forgiving. You can still find his blog on the internet somewhere. Not sure where though. “That’s all my friends! Thank you for listening to my presentation on my grandpa, Will Roberts, Jack Roberts out,” I say to my classmates who are amazed by my presentation. I smile, not a heart warming smile or a fake smile but a proud smile. My presentation was the best, but that’s just my opinion. Maybe I will publish this book and name it, Mr. Roberts And The Old House On The Hill, I’m not sure though.

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[“Her Again?!”] R u b y

S .

Chapter 1 “Her again?!” I yelled. Her necklace was still dangling from her neck, but this one was empty and waiting to be filled. I’m sitting on my gray stained couch watching the news, my black converse laid below my feet, I have a black hoodie and old jeans on. My brown, not brushed hair falls onto my face. Just recently I started watching the news but only to hear about the teacher’s disappearance. Teachers around my town are going missing. We are lucky if we find the body; they’re never found alive. None of my teachers have gone missing yet, I should say my old teachers. On Thursday I got expelled. I never really did anything wrong, maybe a couple physical fights here and there. People did not like me there so when someone was mean or annoyed me, I of course talked back and maybe got physical. Which apparently gets you expelled. What a stupid reason. Chapter 2 Today is my first day at my new school. I get out of the car and mom says goodbye and I open the office doors to be met by a teacher. “Hello,” she says smiling. I wonder why she is so happy. “Hi,” I mumble under my breath. “Who are you?” I ask. “Oh! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Ms. Abigail.” I nod. “I’m going to be your homeroom teacher.” She seems nice, I wonder why she works in this pile of dump. She leads me towards the classroom talking about some kids I could talk to and meet, I keep my head down, looking at my feet. After I get introduced to the class everyone is allowed to do silent reading or drawing, So I take out my sketchbook 208

and start drawing. Soon enough the bell rings and everyone grabs their backpack. Two kids pick on this one kid by throwing his backpack, but the teacher already left to go get water, so nobody dared to stop them. By the time I got home my back was in pain and my eyelids were struggling to keep open. I walked in to see my mom in the kitchen and the news blaring but something caught my eye. A picture of the odd substitute on the last day at my old school, but this one had no necklace and her face looked a bit different. I sat on the couch as they told her story. Finally they got to how she died. Apparently she was found in an alleyway with glove fingerprints all over, she was stabbed in the head four times and in the neck twice. I knew something wasn’t right but doubted my thoughts. Nobody was as observant as me, so if they asked the kids in my old math class questions nobody could even describe her hair color, fools. I got off the couch as the news has changed into what the weather is gonna be like. So boring. I walk towards my room to go to sleep for hopefully a full 8 hours. It’s been 2 weeks since the first day of school. Today I walked into the classroom waiting for Ms. Abigail to greet everyone with a warm smile but she just sat at her desk with her computer in front blocking her face. After a few minutes she gets up and looks towards the class. She looked like Ms. Abigail, but again did not. I sat observing Ms. Abigail to see what was different, maybe a haircut, or makeup, or did she change her style? Then I noticed it. My eyes shot open and I gasped. Around her neck was a necklace with a bottle at the end, but this one was almost full. More red liquid than last time. I am no fool but don’t want it to be blood. Of course we are near Halloween, but is it really a coincidence that the last lady who ‘died’, or who I thought was in the classroom died was wearing a necklace, but her body was not? Then the thought entered my head and my hand shot up asking if I could use the bathroom. She nodded and I bolted out 209

of the classroom. Once I shut the door of the bathroom I let out a loud sigh but my breath was still fast and I started pacing around the room. While my thoughts were racing, the door to the bathroom shot open and two boys walked in one had brown hair, a black hoodie, and jeans and the other had brown hair with blond tips and a white shirt and jeans. They looked like eighth graders. They glared my way but continued walking towards the back of the bathroom to talk. I just stayed put, processing my thoughts. “Can you not hear me, kid?!” The boy yelled behind me. I did not answer. I hear his shoes clack on the ground. My back was met with pain. “I know you heard me,” He said, punching my back again. Not the time I thought as I swung my head and fist around me meeting his face. One hit turned into many and by the time we were done we both were on the ground. His friend ran out of the room and soon enough I was being pulled out by the arm by a teacher. I closed the car door then my mom locked the car. We walk into the house, I don’t dare say a word. I hear her sigh. “Suspended? Really. What’s next?! Expelled?!” She yells. I just look down. “They threw the first punch,” I mumble. My mom sighs. “I know...It’s just.” She sighs again not finishing her sentence “Am I in trouble?” I ask. “Yes. No cartoons for the night, turn the news on instead, it’s good you know what’s going on outside of SpongeBob,’’ She says. I groaned at her stupid remark, I dont even watch Spongebob anymore. I turn the tv on and change the channel to news. I sit on the couch waiting for something interesting to happen. Nothing did. So I got up and walked towards my room to soon be yelled at by mom. “Nathan, come here!!!” she yelled. I walked into the living room to see my mom staring at the TV. I walk around her to get a view of the television to only see Ms. Abigail on the screen with big bold words that spell out MISSING above her head. My eyes widened, I only just saw her yesterday, I thought. The man 210

speaking says she went missing on Sunday around 7 am even though she was at school on Monday. The gears in my brain started turning as I wondered who was impersonating Ms. Abigail. I know she was the same woman who pretended to be the substitute at my old school, but if I went to the police I have no evidence, no picture of the necklace. Chapter 3 It’s been a week and we already have a new homeroom teacher, Mrs. Roberts. She is ok but I do miss Ms. Abigail. She has not been found yet. I walk into the classroom and see her again. I walk over to Mrs. Roberts. I know it’s not Mrs. Roberts, but I can see her necklace. This one is pretty much full, it could only hold about a drop now before overflowing. I walk over to her. “I like your necklace Mrs. Roberts, it’s pretty popular,” I say. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows furrow; she looks distraught. “You’ve seen it before?” she asks, playing clueless. “Yeah, Ms. Abigail wore it before she went missing, same with a substitute at my old school,” I exclaim. She glares at me then looks away. A few seconds later she looks at me then smiles. Her smile was not a ‘I’m happy to see you’ smile or a sarcastic one. This one, this one was a ‘I have a plan’ smile. It sent chills down my spine. I walk away with regret draped over my shoulders. Now she knows I’m onto her. Have I endangered myself? It’s the next day and I’m finishing it in my 7th period class. Science. I don’t hate this class nor like it. I sit in my seat watching the clock tick. Once the bell was heard I shot out of my seat which annoyed the person next to me and apparently the teacher. “Nathan! Don’t be disrespectful. You can be the last one to leave now,” he says, annoyed with my recent actions. I sit back down as I feel eyes stare at me, like lasers on my back. 211

Soon I hear my name being called. “Nathan. Nathan. Nathan!” my teacher yells. “Hm?” I answer. “You can leave now,” he says. I pick up my bag and leave the room heading towards the exit. I walk down the hallway, only a few kids are left. Most are already out the door. Soon I’m in view of the exit but behind me I hear a loud clacking. Heels. That’s the sound, they’re heels. I turn around and see… “Her again?!” I yell. Her necklace was still dangling from her neck, but this one was empty and waiting to be filled. My walking turns to fast walking and my fast walking turns to running. I ran down the hall. The clacking of heels became louder. She’s getting closer. When the exit is almost in reach, I feel a hand brush against my shoulder as if they’re grabbing me. I make it out of their reach and push the doors open. Nobody. Nobody is outside. I run. Faster than I ever had. Soon the clacking of heels stops. I look back. She throws her shoes on the ground and is running now. My side started to ache as I dipped into an alleyway hoping to lose her. My arm gets hit on a nail ripping my sleeve and cutting into my arm. I dont stop running. I look back for a second. She is by where I got hurt. I hide behind a box and observe what she is doing. She pulls out a dropper and takes a drop of my blood that was left on the nail. She places the drop into her necklace. Suddenly, her head whips around, and we make eye contact. My heart is pounding. My breathing is fast. She started running, so I turn around and book it. She is fast, but she is old. I can out run her. I think. I make it to my house and grab the key from in the pot and unlock the door. I slam it behind me and lock it. I grab a chair and place it on the door. “MOM!” I yell, my voice still shaky. No answer, She must be at work. I run to my room and close all the windows. I feel tears threatening to leave my eyes, there is no time I thought. There is no time to cry. I go to my mom’s drawer and rummage through her stuff. 212

I left my mom’s room and headed to the kitchen. I turn the corner and see me. I see myself sitting at the table. Though that’s not me. They have a necklace around their neck. I freeze. I just stand there not being able to do anything. I’m frozen. “Haha,” she says with a demonic laugh as if she has won. She walks over to the kitchen counter and grabs a knife off the counter. “Why look so scared? It will be over soon,” she says. I squint my eyes as I feel her grab my arm. “We can’t have anyone telling the cops about what I’ve been doing” she says smiling, no regret in her eyes. I watch her bring the knife up to my face. I close my eyes. I feel the knife slowly touch my face, barely breaking skin. A bang at the door made her jump. “What did you do?!” She screamed. She let go of my arm so I reached and yanked the necklace off her neck. I look down at it then look up to be met with a hideous woman. She no longer looks like me. She gasps, then bolts to the back door. She unlocks it and slams it open to be met with a cop. They must have surrounded the house. Someone breaks the front door open and rushes to me. I keep my eyes on the cop that’s arresting the woman though. “Are you hurt?!” A woman asks. I show her my arms. Only two cuts both not that deep. The one on my face though. That one hurt. She tends to my wounds. Chapter 4 It’s a week later and I’m back in my house. I lay in my bed like always. I hear a knock at the door. “Come in!” I yell. My mom opens the door, she walks over and sits next to me on my bed. “I know you have already explained what happened but I was thinking. How did you have time to call the cops?” She asks. 213

“Oh. When I ran into your room I grabbed your old phone and dialed the cops. I quickly told them the basics and said to get here as fast as possible. Then I hung up and waited for her to arrive.” I answered. My mom’s face was confused, but I knew she understood. She just stayed where she was. We were both silent. My mom got up and left the room, leaving me with my thoughts. It seemed almost too easy to get rid of her. As I sleep sometimes I still have visions of her necklace, sometimes it’s empty, sometimes shattered. The police did an investigation on the necklace and found many different blood from her other victims. They thought it was just to feel the satisfaction of her murders, but I know it’s more than that. She turned into me and other people almost exactly. She wasn’t just good at disguise, she became those people. No cop would ever believe me though. I wrote everything down in an old journal I got for Christmas last year. Everything about her from the beginning to end was written down, no detail left out. I stuff the journal into a box labeled Nathan’s room. My mom thinks it’s better if we leave. She says it’s to help me forget what happened, I walk down the hallway and into the kitchen, I place the box on the counter and go outside to check on my mom. I see my mom talking to one of the movers. I’m gonna miss my home but I know it’s for the best. I walk towards my mom and give her a hug, maybe moving won’t be so bad.

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[Doth dare to bare] V a l

Candid at once and where did thee do? For thou hast now needs to go brew Damest of doe in the flowerest boughs And cowering crows of in poignant lows Parsnow of parsley growth in the downs And flavors of mint in endeavors to thint Basil to grape as is the water to nother Canfull I do for I shan’t go through Blameful, my faith, for shinter canest bathe Grathful, this day, my visage canest break Of noisome do shan’t triumph tolou And yes did do, my garden abloom All con’t and crow, I found my sow My wildest oats and all alough With greenest of leaves in nidus blithe My finest works to align us to live! And candid at once and where did thee do? My that is there and my mind doth dare And canest the birds for sure allure My ears to procure their sounds ogure

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Cover Art by Elana Shae Wordsworth Literary Magazine Spring 2022

Wordsworth Magazine Spring 2022

Articles inside

Val H Doth dare to bare

R. S. Gardner Diesel Days

Ruby S. “Her Again?!”

R. S. Gardner Silence, Silence

Ruby S. Mr. Roberts And The Old House On The Hill

pip philophobia

Nora VanRees The Warmth of Yesterday

Payton Woods A once in a lifetime deal

Noa U. Gen-ethics

Mercedes The least you could do was just tell me a lie

maia! :) love letter to our star

Mae Feshazion My Heart is Like a Lunar Eclipse

River Almsted Sol Lucet Omnibus

Marin Racine help me wesley

Wisconsin Yukon, Washington

YESSIR Just A Little Bit Haunted

Wilma Glowing Circle

Wilma The Glowing Circle

Tokumei No Sakusha The Defector

Turtle Fall of Fall

Seneca ladies of the solstice

sophia untitled

Sarah Gardner Untitled

quinn Mountain and the moon

Paul Collins From your Biggest Fan

Miley Cote Change Poem

Lillie Sawyer Cheese Moon

Lacey C Summoned

Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik First Homecoming

Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik Deliver Me

Hudson Conboy The Moments of Fall

Holland Havarah Elizabeth Awoken

Finch Logan Living

ella thompson frost

Elana Shae Passing

Cole Fletcher THE DARK

Ceder Kendall Empty Halls

midnight

Anonymous Over the moon i go Cayden C Before ~ a poem written at

Mahalia A Place To Love Myself

Ai Hua Mouse

Maryelle Waterhouse A Late Night

Luci D. Moons and Maniacs

Luca Fox Inner Workings

blushy Cherry Blossom Stray Cats

Sumi Dyment My Grandmother’s House

Star Wilson Her Odd “Dream”

sophia untitled

Nylah The Phases

Peyton Lingo Purple Playful Flowers

Seneca and we were willows

sage bledsoe harmonies of life

under the stars tonight?”

Paden Geddings grey patricia c. “Do you want to stay with me

Mercedes Sun and Stars

mara denmon-bailey little ghost

LL The One Reliable Thing

Jasmine E As The Years Go By

Holland Havarah Elizabeth We are strong

love love

Jaila great expectations

K. Nickel Witches

Hailey Burdick Burning Eyes

Anonymous lunch atop a skyscraper

ella thompson basil and bamboo

Hailey Burdick Untitled

Anonymous A town

Alex Cusack lost

Finch Logan Drowning

E Roses

Abi Collins But Wait, Look Closer