Wordsworth Magazine Spring 2024

wor dsw orth

Mercedes Contreras, Editor

Mia Lewis, Editor

Riley Gardner, Editor

Jody Bault Adams, Advisor

Victor Riley, Advisor

Section header art by Mercedes Contreras

Icon art by Rael Contreras

Staff...

Ada Mae Tice

Alex Cusack

Brooklyn Chapin

Caleb Thomas

Callen Cote

Elliot Christensen

Finch Logan

Holland Rudolph

Lij Thomas

Lillian Lafontaine

Lillie Sawyer

Maddy Geiger-Kilburn

Mahalia Champney

Mars Libby-Applewhite

Miley Cote

Milo Minick

Myst Morgan

Phoebe Duncan

Rael Contreras

Ramona Sanchez

Ruby Sanders

Soren Andersen

Dear Reader,

As we enter into the spring season, we watch flowers bloom and welcome the leaves to the trees, while exploring the underbelly of such a beautiful season. Flipping the soil to celebreate the creepy crawlers and looking to the sky to enjoy the things that fly, we in room 320 have come together to present to you a collection which celebrates these things wonderfully. Helping the reader enter a world of a cool calm spring night, we might catch the scurrying of a rat under a street light. And we celebrate each and every artist whose work is in these pages, and those who have help put them together.

All the thanks to Mrs. Adams and Mr. Riley for supporting us and giving there time to make this Lit Mag. To the staff, thank you from the bottom of our hearts for dedicating your time each Tuesday and the time for extra meetings. You’ve created a lovely community and for that we are greatful. We appreciate all of you!

We thank each and every one of you for supporting these words worth reading that we present to you here.

Sincerely,

The Editors

It is with pleasure that we present our spring 2024 issue:

Street Lit

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

rats

anonymous #rat 2

sixteen trips around the sun 11:20 3

Anonymous A Pawn and a King 5

dahlia a.

Roso Sewell

accidental 6

Beautiful Vancouver 7

Anonymous Changing 9

anonymous City of sadness 10

anonymous cold coffee 11

Mars Libby Eat 12

Sophia L

Cari Tang

assinnu (tiqqun)

Ainsley Wilson

Eren/Ella Wheeler

ana flores

Anna Kovraiska

Zeolite

Mercedes Contreras

Excerpt from “A Ghost Story” 13

Flies Flying 15

Good bye snowy cat 16

I’m not okay 21

I’m a rat not a monster 22

Julius the Rat 23

Lab Rats 24

Light, Paper, and Paint. 25

Mama 26

Anonymous Movement poem 28

Milo

My friend or maybe not? 29

Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik Pangea to Palawan 30

sophia pinky-promise? 32

anonymous Purple 38

Yours Truly Satisfaction 34

W

Steeped Letters

Logan Road Static Air 38

Phoebe Duncan

Ebonie

Aurora Maayen

Kylee Heldt

small poem collection 35

Stars 37

Telephone pole 40

The Humans 50

The Little Things 51

This Beautiful Night 52

Anonymous Untitled 54

m a h a l i a

We Become Stories 55

Anonymous Yellow 57 assinnu (tiqqun)

pigeons

Ava Schuman

Zero unveiled (White Burns, part 5) 58

308 Miles Away 60

Ava Schuman A Night to Remember 63

Emma Brende Alone 66

Forest Bear Ballad of the Arrangement 68

Zee

Ballad of the Ball 72

Jungle Bear Ballad of the Dead Body in the Barn 73

Nebula

Bleeding Thoughts 80

Anonymous Change Poem 83

Sage B

Cherry Chapstick 84

Anonymous City Flights 85

Carson Moore

kay

cyclamen 86

Envy 87

Rory Wood Flutter and Fly 90

Alora Alsleben

Lucy Collmer

Flying Into The Horizon 91

Gravy Dentures 92

R. S. Gardner

HR

Olive Giuliani

hidden 98

Life of the Party 100

My Pizza 104

Anonymous My shadow 106

Milo

sage fern (pen name)

Jasmine E

Pigeons 106

Regarding the Long Face 107

Secure in Insecurity 109

Elishiya C.K. she who hangs the moon 111

Vivian Collmer

The Alarm of Adolescence 113

anonymous The City And The Sky 115

Lulu Duncan

Aurora Maayen

Scarlet Lowrance

Anonymous Tired 120

The Lighthouse & I 116

The Nature Of Life 118

The Troubles of a Bird 119

Lillie Sawyer Walk to School: Spring 120

Johanna Hertel

Where the Leaves Sway 123

maiaaa Yvette 124

roaches

Noelle

Bubblegum 126

LS Chalk 127

Everlyn Bag is Awesome Cicadas at the diner 130

anonymous Clouds 134

Phoebe Duncan

Mars L.

cosmiccosmiccosmic (shattershot) 135

Doctor Proctor and Princess Girl are Underwater 142

Anonymous Dual Thorns 145

Mercedes Contreras

Excerpt from “Fear the Man Who Looks Like an Angel and Pity the Woman who Loves Him” 147

Sophia L Fisherman’s Blues 155

Vivian Collmer Forget 158

Sophia Wright

Nora Angus Green 162

Declan Richter

Zee

From Winter to Spring 161

I am from poem 163

I Love Her Not 164

Lucy Collmer Lighthome 165

Zeolite Liver. 166

The Turnip Man

Sir Roachington XII

My thoughts in a grocery store 168

O, My Roach 169

Eliza the Great Olive Green 170

Finch Logan Perpetual Motion Machine 179

Clark Cozens

Sage B

JRLU

Tessa Lapierre

Starry Town 172

Talking to the Moon 173

The dog 175

The girl in the rain 176

Anonymous The Perfect Utopia 177

Anonymous The trees go on forever 182

Madison Jones

Anonymous To Fly 184

Milo Smith

Sumi Dyment

Hazel H.

The Woman On A Grass Path 183

To recover or to not recover. 185

Untitled 186

Untitled 188

Anonymous Unwanted Roaches 188

noah laible

Vile Necessaries 189

Lillie Sawyer Walk to School: Winter 189

Anonymous Yellow 190

visual art

Maddy Geiger Kilburn city tears 20

Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik

Sophie McLeod

Anonymous

Emily Nemnich

Audrey Ahrens

noah laible jantor 67

Colten Lumsden

Coron 31

Couple of Fellas 181

Dual Thorns 146

Fat King Pigeon 121

God is Fair 62

Lit Mag March 24’ 49

harry luh calm street lit 111

Shea Reznick

Aubrey F. Headrick

Eddie Xaysouthep

Emily Cellers

Roso Sewell

Lennox Blodgett

Sea Blue 39

Something beyond us 53

Street Lit 82

Street Lit 167

The Seasons Of My Home 8

The Unwanted Club 133 & cover

Anonymous Untitled 89

Avery Shoemaker

Chengzhe Pan

Jasper Sutten

Laurel Prastka

Untitled 99 & 105

Untitled 187

Untitled 160

Untitled 113

RATS

Some People are tall, But not me. Some people tower, Over me.

Some people step, On me. But I don’t mind Because I will Bite your ankles. #rat

[11:20]

i needed her.

in a way that i could never find the words for she brought a light to my life that still radiates even if it dwindled when she left

our conversations could be simple but i had her memorized. what her tone of voice meant and how the way that she said things gave me a peek into her mind the mind that I swear she only showed to me

the way I craved her was like, like how someone drowning needs resuscitation she pushed something fresh into my lungs and for the first time i felt there was someone I could breathe around

and how i loved her. the words seemed to be a stranger in my throat but when i could be with her it was as if the stranger was my friend

pretty soon she and my friend had become synonymous

every day at 11:20 a.m. we would find each other. on the bad days we could sit in silence it was never awkward on the good days we couldn’t shut up

i lived to make her laugh. when she was really, i mean genuinely happy, she would throw her head back and squint her eyes, her mouth agape her laugh was so full and loud that sometimes she’d get scolded

but i could listen to her laugh forever. since seeing her honestly smiling and happy was like gold it was something that so many tried to take from her but every chance I could give it back to her i felt complete

now that she’s gone i don’t think ill ever feel complete. because if you were one of the few lucky enough to know heri mean actually know her she became a piece of who you were

part of me was taken with her when she left, a big, big part of me but she still lives in the whole of me.

now if the pain would just subside.

sixteen trips around the sun

[A Pawn and a King] Anonymous

Something a camera cannot capture I will not be able to watch life happen again

In anywhere

Besides my own eyes

I wish not to kiss her For the last time Without knowing it

She wont forget me will she I hope she won’t

Embrace the familiarity Of the unlovables

The view is beautiful

Like something that doesn’t belong I wasn’t supposed to happen

Soaring downwards

The view is magnificent

As the world dances Plays

Shines around me

I will look only

At her

And we have not forever

[accidental]

dahlia a.

gasoline, polluting the air. drivers, aware of their unawareness. soil, unknowingly poisoned. trees, disconnected from their roots. candy wrapper, thrown into the wrong bin. sea life, digesting indigestible plastic. smoke, inhaled from that accidental wildfire. cities, overcrowded and underprepared. home, perfectly imperfect. a girl, who lives in that home. abuse, withstanding while she can. peace, something our earth may never find again.

[Beautiful Vancouver]

Roso Sewell

Beautiful Vancouver

The city with a mouth

Helping others through kind words

Lovely Vancouver

A city with ears

Hearing sounds of happiness

Dearest Vancouver

A city with eyes

Seeing mountains while going on hikes

Unique Vancouver

A city with touch

Like a handmade toy

Mom got in a local shop

Beautiful Vancouver

A city with a nose

To smell delicious food

In our beautiful Vancouver

[The Seasons Of My Home]

Roso Sewell

[Changing]

Anonymous

Sitting on a table alone. Looking at the other kids, They’re so well-socialized, well-liked, and well-established. Everyone wants to believe they’re like that but I guess not in pre-school.

No one remembers much from those times unless they didn’t go at all.

Sometimes…

Sometimes it’s like I’m there again but

I can’t describe the feelings, can’t remember them, can’t feel them.

I can remember the feeling of pins and needles in my legs but always ignoring them to finish a drawing. I can remember staring at the others and then going back to whatever I was doing.

I can remember doing whatever I could just to interact with something or someone,

I felt isolated.

Compared to them I was in my own world and no one felt bothered to let me out.

Compared to them I was “well-behaved”, “well-kept”, and well.. not a problem.

Compared to them I was just there.

Alone.

[City of sadness]

Life isn’t the safe anymore. Everyone in my city is miserable and sad. They seem to have no emotion but sadness. I walk around these sad streets with a smile on my face trying to spread happiness. Some people accept my happiness and they become happy themselves but others ignore. I walk around spotting dead flowers and leafless trees, rabid rats, and Pigeons stealing food to at least survive this gloomy town. August has been the worst so far but no matter what I will keep my happiness to spread joy to the gloomy, joy to the poor, and joy for the people who have been through the worst.

[cold coffee]

There sits your coffee

You've been gone for a while and I've been coughing I do miss you although It's not like you be with me

Here in our home anonymous

[Eat]

Eat.

Thunder cracks like the bat to the ball, but you are safe. You are warm and dry and starving.

Eat. Eat now.

Eat the past, lick up this linear trail, taste time on your tongue, while the sky sizzles above your head. your cup runneth over, your harvest is bountiful and robust, but your gaping maw is barren.

Mars Libby

[Excerpt from “A Ghost Story”] Sophia L

Theodora stood over her husband. She had laid him down on their wooden slab dining table over a bed of herbs and fruits, like a human charcuterie board. When she arrived home a parcel sat on her doorstep, wrapped in twine that stunk of thyme. It contained all the necessary ingredients to complete her spell. She wasn’t sure what the majority of these things were, but she trusted that they were what she needed. As she stared at his graying body, she held the worn paper, crumpled and growing soft from her sweating hand. She unfolded it and glanced at the glowing scripture. The words were written in glowing ink. The paper listed steps and as Theodora read over it she glanced back to the table to check off each thing she needed.

Candles… check

Mirror… check

The body… check

Decorative herbs… check

She struck a match and lit the thick candles, they flickered and her wavering shadow danced across the dimly lit walls and closed shades in their light. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead. She reached for his eyes with quivering hands and peeled back his stiff eyelids. His eyes were sunken, but still as blue as they had been beside a milky white layer, and still decorated by a thick band of delicate eyelashes. His mustache had grown just a bit longer since he died, and Theodora took the pair of scissors that she used to open the parcel and trimmed the hairs that overlapped his lips. She breathed deeply and backed away from his body. The candle wax had

begun to drip down their thick bodies onto the surrounding herbs, thickets of rosemary, and stumps of ginger. From the counter behind her, she picked up a stout jar and unscrewed the ribbon-wrapped lid. A fine golden powder spurred inside the jar and she dipped her fingers into it. A golden film sat on her fingertips.

She pressed them into his forehead, dragging them down into 4 thick lines. 1 for the lines. The crisp edges of a book, the soft scripture of a lead pencil. 2 for the planes. Pieces of paper, slabs of dense wood, and iron. 3 for the structures. The delicate formation of the human body, the lines, the planes, and the individual structures that are crafted. The fourth was for what is more, for what makes the body and its lines and planes feel. The unwitnessed being that cries, and laughs, and loves. The soul.

She kneeled to him, not as deeply as she had to the witch, but enough that if he could turn his head they would be eye level. She read from the page, a deep throaty language that deciphered itself on her tongue. As she spoke, unsure of what she was saying she thought back to the witch’s kiss.

“This is the gift she must’ve given me,” She thought. A surge of power resonated within her.

The spell finished itself, leaving behind a feeling as if it were balled up in her throat, choking her. She coughed, gagging at her words. A thick splatter of blood left her mouth and quickly absorbed itself into her husband’s skin. She regained her composure, quick breaths falling out of her shaking lips as she watched his lifeless form. The house was silent. The candles crackled quietly. She remained there at his side for what felt like years, waiting for a semblance of life. And then, it happened. A sharp dilation of his pupils. The ragged gasping of air, hands gripped to the sides of the table. She smiled in absolute elation.

Theodora’s husband was back.

[Flies Flying]

Cari Tang

I fly, I fly, I fly so high, I fly so high I touch the sky. I fly to the smell of food, I could smell the scent like a mouse to cheese

In a kitchen in a park somewhere, anywhere. I hover, I hover around leftovers like a hawk, hungry

Around and around, I fall I fall

The humans swat me and I fall like a raindrop on a cold day

I just wanted food no problem at all, Why are you so mean, Just leave me alone. Now I wish I was no fly Maybe I wish I couldn’t Fly Maybe I wish I wouldn’t hover If I don’t will I be at peace?

Just maybe.

[Good bye snowy cat]

assinnu (tiqqun)

drag you through the snow. hardly a corpse when you're in the cold. snag your shirt on a jagged rock. the ice loves you so much it kept your face the same, eyes frozen forward. ice says: I Love You! I Love You!

the tree isn't frosted and the dirt has a chill like near-death against my arms with the spring sun squinting me into an angel oil-spill, mind-flipping light, light not meant for me

bleed in my teeth. prop you up on a lawn-chair, set your salad-hands on the table. I'll spoon the tasteless gray into your mouth, your jaw hanging open and your candied eyes staring with fat pupils. swallow? for me?

it's winter here, the sky is switched off, up above is gray, gray, gray and bleak, I am a clingy creature crawling out the chasm, mutation & murder in the mariana trench

I'll take your eyes and crunch them in my teeth. stickiness molded in my molars. I'll try to pick it out. but you're stuck in me. you're stuck there 4ever.

my arms hold the shape of rain. churning within trembling outlines that flee from the shape they were drawn from. hugged by air. suspended in the premonitory vibration just before the impact-point, anticipating the light of one body igniting another. never comes. fingers quiver and mindlessly peel the stem of a pocket-dandelion,

no name? me neither. just a weight on a weightless earth

stick a tube in my belly button. stick your head in the funnel, and SCREAM!!!!!!! black networks of squirming space that need to be filled.

named you goon. the fire should thaw you well. the water will drip off you and your marrow will soften and your eyes will twitch again.

my spine wasn't meant to point up I was happy when I didn't have a name I love being blank

drip drop drip drop drop drop drop drop. wake up for meeee? bestfriend.

long walk home, not home, long walk through the snow. home. hold hands with the cold. long walk. spiky grass, frosted field.

new message from ice: I Love You! I Love You! (Part 2). did anyone love you goon? where are they

If an alien crashed in my backyard we'd cuddle

new message: I love you, from me.

long walk to the macabre gray rim of the tundra, long swig of nausea

goon, you're not gonna wake up.

I remember cash registers beeping, flickering between octaves, voices reverberating and shoes squeaking. the bathroom stall. now only the wind howls. goon

I never existed and you can forget me

I took you for a friend, the bites in your scruff were me asking for that. it's okay. I guess I'm only made to walk. nothing loves a cat in the wild.

beautiful gray. beautiful black where's your grave goon? nobody came nobody came

I found you and I tried to make you better the cold loves me, when I'm frozen I feel farther from the people I think about, I feel more unlike them, and it's easier to forgive yourself when you feel like an animal

drag you through the snow. hardly a corpse when you’re in the cold. hardly dead when you’re wanted. been fed postmortem breakfast for the last time. find a cave. this place is a good place. the rocky mouth only half snow-stuck. this place. a good place.

left everything unfinished, left midway

no color in the arctic but i’ve got a pine branch. I’ve got that and I got you. I gently tip you on your side. I kick snow over you, I bury you a second time.

in the white iris-burns see a shape, face up to a white pallid sky. a cat, a cat's head looking at me, warming my face. ice is melting, but the rest of me is still going away, saying good bye good bye snowy cat

I lay the branch beside you. your head peeks out the snow. I lay. I nap with you one last time. mmmm. I wake. the flurry has

picked back up. swirling, ashy, sky barely lit. I look, plunge my gaze in those dead frozen eyes one last time. bye bye goon.

(…)

my paws are burnt with cold. the sky is black, black, black. enjoy your nap. enjoy your grave. whoever comes for you: enjoy it too.

(…) bye (…)

but I don't leave. and I ask, is this really all (…) now only the wind howls (…) now only the wind (…) MEOWWWWWWWW (…) HOWLLLLLLLLLLLL (…) (but nobody came)

But nobody came

[city tears]

Maddy Geiger Kilburn

[I’m not okay]

Ainsley Wilson

I break down,

My mind is scattered with the tears I cry, You can’t compare to all of the times my heart has been broken, Bullies will bully, Eyes will cry tears, thoughts of one day being good, I want the pain to stop, Then, I think of my dad, He would want me to move forward, So,

I keep going, I get back up, All of my broken pieces, Have been put back together

[I’m a rat not a monster]

I am just a lonely rat. But most people don't see that. When most people see me they look the other way like I'm some sort of monster. why though, I'm small, soft, and cute am i not? But most people just simply forgot that we can be nice, but they say we are not. If New York City is known for its rats, then why do they treat us like we're a bunch of brats.

Maybe I wish I couldn’t Fly Maybe I wish I I wouldn’t hover If I don't will I be at peace?

Eren/Ella Wheeler

[Julius the Rat] ana

my small hands are wet I'm tired, and there's no safe place It’s dirty, anywhere I go I step on a cigarette. It's the worst when i step, on a human’s shoelace. their scream, as if I were purposely, a disgrace.

I didn't choose to be born, or to be a menace. I'm not so bad, really. just lonely. no family, no friends, Its hard when everything you know gets run over, by a car. and the humans driving, dare to fear me! I have a heart too. there's more than what you see. I have feelings. my small hands are wet. In fact, everything is. no one wonders, if rats can cry there’s no space In a city. for Julius the rat. a rat like me.

flores

[Lab Rats]

Anna Kovraiska

Scurrying through sidewalks, picking up scraps,

Every direction, front, sides, and back.

Small piece of garbage, small piece of food,

Bite of brutality, bite of some good,

Sliver of tragedy, sliver of hope,

Not many wonder how we can cope.

How do we manage to live through this pain,

Live in this world without one single gain?

Who ever told us “You’re forced to go through with this.”?

Who ever said that we can't make a change?

No one said “This is your world, so just live with it!”

No one said we were the rat that was caged!

[Light, Paper, and Paint.]

Zeolite

The light switch on the wall supposedly white, but after years of Life’s staining passage: the plastic darkens to a stale toothed-yellow conforming to the state of the chips on the door frame

A window to its wooden skeleton buried underneath a once-loved layer of paint

Given by worn paper hands paired with those of a child.

The light switch on the wall no longer has letters to separate on from off sanded down or electricity to deliver either condition

To the empty socket in the ceiling stained with water

That drips to the wood floor when it rains where rot festers and old pathways for small, thundering feet cave.

Home, now, for critters who’d fit in those paper hands And occasionally the tired feline

Who found solace in their arms though are left without the option for

Home, now, is bare, only space for a cold draft And the light switch on the wall.

She will not lick the blood from her skin

Or suck it from her claws

She will let it stick to her fingers like a bitter sticky coat

Let the earth and bugs cling to it and remind her

She is dirty

“Where did they go?”

“Who?”

“Your babies?”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

The sun is hot on her back

She can still taste the iron between her

Teeth

She stuck her fingers down her throat

Yet she couldn’t gag

She was dirty

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did the crunch feel good between your teeth?”

“What?”

She secludes herself away from the glare of the sun

She tells herself God cannot see her

She thinks of putting her fingers in her Mouth

And eating them like she ate them

She is dirty

“Did it make you feel better?”

“I saved them.”

“Did

you?”

“I don’t know.”

She will not lick the blood from her skin

Or suck it from her claws

Slowly the earth will wash it for her

And when she feels the new ones against her body

She will remember

She was dirty

Mercedes Contreras

[Movement poem]

It Was a swift Movement, one moment the tree was there the Next, Gone. Why was it gone, it didn't have to go, but it did Was it the massive storm swaying the trees , or did it want this? Did it want to feel the center of the earth taking its body away, or is it simply taking a break. We all need breaks, even the trees. But it feels wrong, the movement feels erratic like it does not want this, the sounds it makes, it crying out in pain. I can't help it, it falls as the pine needles cushion the blow. A foul gloom falls over the forest, it's almost as if I can hear the trees cry as they sway overhead.

[My friend or maybe not?]

I Hate rats... They are disgusting creatures. That's what I've been told. I've never seen one but they're still disgusting. Maybe they aren't. But my friend said they were gross and my friend wouldn't lie to me... right? My friend used to love rats but then something happened. Maybe they aren't so gross after all? But I can't like them…. because my friend doesn't….right? They are my friends right..?

Milo

[Pangea to Palawan]

Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik

I spent hours staring into the lush jungle in Palawan. The trees grew mighty with vines nestled between the trunks. The jungles continued onto the mountains, which the setting sun turned shades of gold. My mom said it looked like Africa. It must be so since we saw zebras and giraffes. National Geographic claimed they were discovered on a secluded island in the Philippines, proving the expansion of Pangea. Of course, that’s utter nonsense, some rich people just imported a few animals so they could look at them. Now it’s just a tourist attraction, but hey, at least I got to hug a giraffe. We almost kissed too! I put leaves by my face then Gin, the twenty year old alpha male leaned in. When I got so close to these animals, I saw the intricacies in their skin, the complexity of their bodies. Life is so perfectly designed. Earth is full of wonders. I love seeing it all, for the great creator is inside

You and I,

Each bird that flies, All of life.

Each creature has a spirit, and once they pass, they’re gone forever. Every person, plant, and animal that has ever blessed this Earth created a unique life story. That’s why I wish there was more reverence for life.

Tourists pay so much to come see these animals, yet they are treated so cruelly. I stood face to face with a python twice my size. I wasn’t afraid of the way it could wind its body and squeeze the life out of me. Rather, it broke my heart to see them coiled in a concrete cage when they should be dancing up treetops.

It only got worse from there. Majestic jungle cats were trapped in cages they couldn’t turn around in. I have my darling

angel back home, roaming the pine forests and hunting rats, wishing the same freedom for them. Relatives of our species walked to the edge of their cage and stretched their hands out to me. My sister looked at their sorrowful faces.

“I’m sorry,” she said as we walked away.

[Coron]

Isabella Bonifacio-Sudnik

[pinky-promise?]

Live-giver. The water grabs, snatches, at what she can. I sink into the sandy bed like another rock littering the bottom. River, freedom on hot days. Ocean, home when nothing else is, that gives and gives and asks for nothing in return. Waves, hissing onto the sand and sneaking a kiss.

Sticks and seaglass that’s not sharp, I promise, clasped in sticky palms and carried away in jars and pockets like a love note to be forgotten or thrown away. Towels on car seats and hosing the sand off feet in the backyard. Swimsuits on drying racks.

Water seals oaths. Water sets you free. Water remembers even if you don’t, seeping into empty pores and dark corners where its not supposed to be. Water remembers even if you don’t want to, and its relentless too. taunting, laughing, calling come on in, you’ll be safe, I swear.

sophia

[Purple]

anonymous

She is Purple. A pretty Periwinkle. Russian Violet when she’s angry, Lilac when she laughs. She smells like Lavender, too. Like a teahouse in the winter, or a cup of tea on the porch in summer.

I am… not a Color. I am an ugly shade of a mix of paints. It shifts to dark yellow, light brown, to an evil forest green. I’m not a Color. I’m a few bad shades that don’t mix.

She says that I’m the color of the earth, of the trees, of the wind. She says to be proud of my colors, to love them the way I love the White of snow or the Gray of cigarette smoke.

But She doesn’t understand.

Because She is Purple.

And I am not.

[Satisfaction] Yours

Truly

I’m hungry.

I’m hungry in the sense that I yearn for something. Something to place in my mouth to gnaw on till it’s just bone. Looking around I pace to find something. Something, something, something.

It hits me that I could bite something and get my result. The spill is salty, metallic and rather loose.

I’m still hungry.

My canines tug and pull, ripping what was in my maw.

My head is weary yet I gnaw and tear.

The same metallic taste and smell floods into my mouth like a fine wine.

It’s almost dizzying.

Teeth finally find bone and grind onto the marrow, gripping the last bits of flesh.

Pulling away seems hard, but I know when to stop.

I’m eventually satisfied and let my jaw loosen.

I’m no longer hungry, I’m now looking for the thing to satisfy.

[small poem collection]

love is a beautiful thing

love is a beautiful thing like roses with thorny stems like a double edged sword like a drug

love was a beautiful thing a relic of the past a museum item an ancient monument

pain and violence is the norm the losses we bear the sickness we have the hurt we endure goodbye. we’re far, she’s close. i’m warm, heart cold. we feel, we change. we weep, i cry when she says goodbye.

she’s gone.

i’m letting it all happen. i don’t care enough to stop it she’s not the same but neither am i but it’s different good saw us before but now it’s blind just like me because in my eyes she’s gone.

[Stars]

What God must I follow to find you

Laced in the stars where we shut our eyes

Do you remember the night upon the hill

The night upon the hill told me stories that you never did

Here was when I learned all your woes and stored them

Do you remember what you did

I don’t want to remember

Oh how your smile was burgundy scars

And how you never flinched when I traced them

So sweet despite the fear in our eyes upon the world collapsing on us

Your eyes reflected the cosmos

Streaks like shooting stars cascading through your iris

Oh tell me what God I must follow to leave you

[Static Air]

Static air, Shaking and dotting, Fill my eyes with something aching and rotting, Cover me up with a plastic smile, Throw the rejects in the pile

Static air, Flashing and falling, You keep lashing and I keep stalling, All the sadness and all the bane, How do I stay so sane?

Static air, Spinning and flying, Pinning me down while I start crying, I can’t take it anymore, I’ll simply lay here on the floor.

Logan Road

[Sea Blue] Shea Reznick

[Telephone pole]

Phoebe Duncan

He stands outside to smoke

Behind a tree so his child wouldn’t see him

And beneath the branches so God can’t either

But both could see the puffs.

Making their way up into the sky as they dissipate. They’ll never get close enough to blend with the clouds

To hide from shame they shouldn’t feel

My Daddy said Grandma was an angel now up there in that infinite sky somewhere

Same as Dale’s crop duster

Its engine sounds like her cough did When it rumbles to a stop I pray for it to fall out of the sky everyday

She was here Sundays, before church

Ripping the brush through my bedhead

Wrinkling my nose at her awful perfume

It smelt as bad as daddy’s cigarettes

The ones he liked to light at the dinner table

It made my momma sad and grandma angry

Those days usually ended in loud arguments

So I ate dinner with the tv those nights

Going to bed late once the front door slammed

I wondered if grandma coughed from the chemtrails …I hope she does

Maybe I’d stop praying for Dale’s plane to fall

***

It was when I was standing in a parking lot

Waiting for daddy to remember he had a daughter I saw God in the shadow of a telephone pole

***

I threw up on my Sunday best today Daddy took the Lord’s name in vain We were late for church

I had to wear one of mommas dresses It was to big for me and I dirtied the hem Momma took the Lord’s name this time

It was a silent car ride home

It got on the handle and ripped I caught my tongue

***

The Cooper’s boy got a truck today I don’t know his name

But his truck is an ugly red He drove it up main street and told everyone to hop in Other kids from school holding onto the sides Giggling as we went fast in the fields

I smiled so big my teeth buzzed We drove around till the sun faded

He dropped us all off at our homes

He smiled extra big and gave me a wave Saying we should hang out again soon I nodded and skipped to my front door

My papa asked who I was out with I shrugged I still didn’t know his name

***

Albert said you can’t get lost in a field It’s not like a forest You can always see where you came from

All you are is far Far from anything From safety or danger

Because of your alone in a field You’re away from people And people are the real danger

Then Johnny asked what about bears Albert slapped him and told him There are no bears in Kansas

***

Daddy says I’m becoming a woman now He wants me to get a job

So I scan groceries now

Sitting in same parking lot as in primary school

Looking up at the chemtrails while I wait Cutting the sky open like a teddy bear

The sun sets slowly

I see God after every shift

Daddy hit a man at the bar today

He was talking ill things of momma

His wedding ring cut his finger

Daddy didn’t talk about it when he got home Me and momma heard it from our neighbor Mrs. Caroline knew every whisper in this town

She had big ears the kids would joke

But she was sweet, her dog wasn’t Ugly as the words she used to rumor

When he got out the yard I chased him for her Right to the tree that daddy was standing behind I could see the puffs

I apologized and scooped up the little rat But he bit me and I dropped him I fell against the tree and sighed

Daddy didn’t say a word

His ring finger wrapped in a bandage He offered me cigarette

So that afternoon we both hid from god Underneath the branches of a tree That neither of us knew was rotting

I didn’t go to church this morning I was too sick to get out of bed

I think I was dying

Momma just closed my door softly The click was the last sound I heard all morning

I couldn’t fall back asleep I got so stuffy under the sheets But I was to weak to pull them off

The dog next door wouldn’t stop barking I prayed for God to kill him

My skin burned like an stovetop And I felt tremors

All I could see was my ceiling

When they got home they called my name I couldn’t even whimper a response

Unable to push away the extra blanket my mom layered on me I cried in silence when that door clicked again

For the next three hours I was still Until I puked blood on the sheets But no one saw for three hours more

I thought about grandma Laying in the hospital bed Did she feel this scared?

......I think she went to Hell

I ask my daddy is she was a good woman We sat in chair under the tree smoking

Doctors said I should stop

I couldn’t get the bracelet off my wrist I said the Lord’s name in vain trying to pull it off I froze completely and looked at daddy

He just looked down at his feet The silence filled with my raspy cough It sounded like grandma’s

I was in the back of that red truck again This time it was just with one other I still didn’t know his name

But I knew what his gums taste like I liked it on my lips

But I don’t think I loved him

I just liked someone else to be by I asked him what my mouth tasted like

He said I tasted like cigarettes

***

Dale crashed the crop duster today

Caught his whole field on fire

He was killed on impact momma says

I wondered if it was my fault Praying for him to die All those years ago

I cried in my mommas arms

She held me tight as I wailed to her That He’d finally decided to listen

I couldn’t see the look on her face

But I felt her arms loosen

I stopped praying after that day

I moved out that summer

Grabbing some groceries

Passing God on the way out

I didn’t know were I was headed I lied to my folks

Said I had a job and a place to stay

Really I just wanted space

Space to do something

Surrounded by something

Or maybe something

Surrounded by nothing no

I stayed away from home

For many years

Taking all that nothing

It burnt a hole through my soles

Callused my feet and left them raw Nothing could hurt

I worked odd jobs

Always smoking on breaks

Never packing a lunch

They never paid enough

But it didn’t matter

I just continued to exist

Eating the same meal day in Eating the same meal day in

Eating the same meal day in

I found out momma was dying

So I went to church that Sunday

But kept my head upturned

I left the apartment I could barely afford

Left everything in it as well I was too tired to pack a bag

I drove until the pavement became the sky

Only interrupted by a flash

My head slammed against the steering wheel

The dear I killed watched me as I wept Screaming out a prayer in the night

My tooth cracking under the force of my jaw

But no one came

Nothing but the cold was there

So after an hour I kept driving

Not stopping for fifteen hours

Till I drove my street

Slowing down as I got closer

The tree outback was rotted The branches gone

Leaving our sins on display

Collapsing on my bed

As if I was the one dying

I laid that way till my daddy tucked me in Mama was too tired to talk when door clicked this time I was shivering

Momma was lowered into the ground next to a drunk driver who hit a telephone pole He drove a red truck

The priest read about God’s kingdom I’m sure my mother would be let in I wonder if I would too

Daddy drove off as I stood over her grave So I walked back home sullen He left completely before I got home

Leaving me with a bed unmade Her impression was still there I curled up in her arms one last time

Praying for someone to tuck me in

But like time and time before No one answered ***

I left the store with a pack of cigarettes Finishing my first shift back Coughing all throughout like my grandma I see a new billboard Where the shadow of God once stood Advertising the cigarette staining my teeth

[Lit Mag March 24’]

Colten Lumsden

[The Humans]

Flooding the streets

In black and brown and gray. A tsunami of rats Run through town.

People kill them With no regret And no reason.

My brother was murdered By a human.

One fateful day years ago, It was my birthday in fact, He went to get us food. He must've smelled something great cause he went running. I heard the snap of the trap and watched as the human brought his body in.

They dropped him in the garbage And he fell down, Down, Down,

Until he was gone.

I never saw him again. The tsunami of rats lost another,

To the humans.

Ebonie

[The Little Things]

A candle in the wind, or a cloud in the sky, it's the little things in life that may pass you by.

They're gone in a moment, and move on in a dance; these things can change in only a glance.

A picture of my father as a boy in Vietnam, a little stack of records that was used by my mom:

The little things will be there, always, thick and thin, but you are the only one who can let the little things in.

Aurora Maayen

[This Beautiful Night]

Kylee Heldt

As I look around at the world around me,

I see a deep, dark, blue sky, bedazzled with the faint glitter of stars.

I hear a bustling city, loud and chaotic… but somehow peaceful.

I smell crisp, cool air with all kinds of food and drink aromas.

I taste a sweet crunchy apple. And I feel happy, peaceful, and at ease…

On this beautiful night.

[Something beyond us]

Aubrey F. Headrick

[Untitled]

Anonymous

The old house was overgrown, vines crept along the rafters, weaving in and out of the cabinets and through the ceilings. Each step I took inward was filled with the squelch and snap of the vegetation that layered the ground, as though it was a carpet. Streaks of sunlight filled the space, and I can hear the birds chirping, and I promptly decide that this is perfect for little Violet and shy Angelica and hopeful Troy. Maybe some of the others too.

I walk briskly back up the trail towards the town. I allow myself to feel a little happiness, a little hopefulness as I walk down the cobbled road towards Violet and Angelica. Violet’s face is pressed into a glass display case as she squeals, both hands against the glass, staring at the dolls. Permanent smiles are painted onto their perfect porcelain faces. Possibly the only colorful thing in this ghost town of a place. Except, it’s not really a ghost town. I can see the people peeking out from behind the curtains, snapping them shut when they realize that I’ve spotted them. So few towns recovered after the devastation. This one was evidently not one of them.

We’ve been living like this for a couple of months now, but I’ve only recently started taking care of it all by myself. It’s starting to show, I think. I barely have time to see Troy or Angelica outside of the little shoe box I call an office. I suppose this is how all of the past leaders have felt, but I wouldn’t know. They all died before I could ask them any questions about how to run this thing.

I know I’m not the only one that the deaths have taken a toll on. And it feels selfish of me to talk about it like I am. I know Troy lost his grandfather last week, and Angelica lost her older brother, her last living relative. All the others died from living like this too.

[We Become Stories]

My dearest Eleanor,

February 23, 1842

I have come across an idea. I do hope it doesn’t cause you to fret, it is not to upset you. Please tell me what you think in your next letter, I would love to hear it.

Here it is:

In the end, we all become stories. Our portraits will have passed away, and left the blank pages of a leather bound notebook behind. Rain splattered and aged, the pages will be curled and weathered, just waiting for the hands of one who used to draw near.

Those hands, soft and gentle, will belong to one whose tears mix with the clouds’ own sorrow, one who knew you, one who watched your life unfold like the flowers in the field. They will take your leather bound spirit home and write. They will write until their fingers cramp up and the sky grows dark.

Soon, your pages will be full and your story will be arranged in a medley of sentences stacked as tall as your star in the sky.

The weathered leather bound notebook will not let you fully pass away, for it will be bequeathed through generations. One by one, each pair of hands and each pair of eyes will keep you alive by the words penned on the tattered, well-loved pages.

Our lives, over which we fret, will be condensed to the words of the book you could be reading right at this very moment.

In the end, we all become stories.

El, I do hope you and your family are well. I hope that little Maybelle and Jack are healthy and thriving, and that your marriage is strong. I cannot wait to come and see you in the spring! I will be sure to bring a basket full of dried flowers for your mantle. Write back soon.

Love, Your little sister, Birdie

m a h a l i a

[Yellow]

Yellow feels like the bags of cold hard gold I get from lemonade stands

Yellow tastes like the sweetness of lemonade and the sourness of lemons

Yellow tastes like my Ricola cough drops that I take 40 of when I’m sick

Yellow smells like sugar and honey

Yellow looks like the hot, bright sun

Yellow sounds like my dad’s yellow car

And feels like the stings of yellow jackets

Yellow feels spikey and soft at the same time

Yellow smells like sunflowers in the late spring

Yellow looks like all 35 seasons of the Simpsons

[Zero unveiled (White Burns, part 5)]

the black goat with deer tongue and wet horse eyes the antlers that snap chalky and brittle and 2 horns crumbled like N.Y.C. skyline ivory stumps feeding moss into its skull the loose lips that flap and gurgle softly hiss in only x and q the horsehair underbelly that swallows you in its pouch and the phlegmy film within the hoof that forces down its own throat tugs and stretches its vocal chords then shields your eyes against the nigh dawn the tongue that cools your neck and cheek licks your white burns and as you shiver, says, θʌ sʌn kænʔ gɛt ʌs næʊ, (the sun can’t get us now), the night that slowly turns over, the woods dead and tongueless, the creek dried up in the silence you hear its stomach bubbling. white burns, white burns, yr skin peels off and sticks back on the moon extinguished and fed by a black sun rimmed with werewolf green you gnaw on its veins & a deep purple spews through your teeth as you slip further in the coarse hair and fat it starts purring into your skull in the guttural warmth, your eyelids fade and soon enough i loveeeeee youuuuuuuuuu and purring

PIGEONS

[308 Miles Away]

Ava Schuman

Nobody really gets it, at least not like you do. Most of the time were just pixels on a screen, or we share the occasional messages when one of us is feeling unseen.

I don’t know what I was expecting leaving home so soon. I guess I always thought I’d have you. I now know that my thoughts aren’t always telling me the truth

Long distance, is a cruel divide, Our once-long conversations are now seemingly light.We behave as if we don’t know one another. And perhaps we don’t, at least not like before.

we’re just two people lost in the our memories. Our shared childhood laughter and late night calls, the early morning Adventures we once called home .

Yet the longer I’m gone the quieter it gets. We’re no longer friends who talk like were facing our dying breath. I miss my best friend The one who was there when everyone else left.

Maybe i’m just naive but i’ve always wondered what our love would look like if

I never left. Of course i’ll never really know because it’s all in my mind. Maybe one day I’ll get my answer.

For now I will wait until we talk again Because no matter how many time you hurt Me, you are still the love of my life. The one who taught me how to live the one I will Tell my kids was my first ever best friend.

[God

is Fair] Audrey Ahrens

[A Night to Remember]

Ava Schuman

I sat at a small table near the back of the restaurant, nervously tapping my fingers on my half drunk glass of Merlot. The slight glow of the candles, created a faint ambiance over the restaurant, the once happy and inviting place now felt dark and lonely.

I slowly glanced at the clock on my phone for what felt like the thirtieth time in the past hour. I couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling that my date might not show. After about an hour of waiting I finally gained the confidence to look up from my table. I was hoping that I might find a familiar face. One to save me from this dreadful date, but unfortunately for me all I saw were bright happy couples lost in their own conversations.

Beginning to feel a mixture of embarrassment and disappointment for myself I decided to give it a few more minutes before I called it a night.as I anxiously scrolled through my messages, hoping to find a last-minute apology.

I was just about to get up and leave. When I noticed a familiar scene unfolding at the table next to me.

There was a man, who held a puzzled expression and a hopeful bouquet of flowers in his right hand. It appeared that he too was also facing the bitter truth of being stood up. My eyes met his for a brief moment, we exchanged an unspoken understanding of the situation. I slowly mustered a sympathetic smile, and he returned it with a lighthearted grin.

Almost as if it was rehearsed we both sigh, and accept the reality of our strange predicament. I began to chuckle to myself over the irony of this whole thing. I was so distracted that I hadn’t noticed that he too was laughing at our predicament. It was a shared moment of closeness during a long night of failed misfortune. The man slowly stood up and approached my table .

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, motioning toward the empty chair across from me. I was very appreciative of the unexpected company, and smiled warmly. “right now, I could use some nice company."

We both felt uncomfortable being stood up, but that awkwardness gradually vanished as we started into the conversation. We found ourselves connecting over our favorite films and pastimes and joking at our same dating mishaps. He told me my name was Lucy, and I told him mine was Derek. That evening, my initial sadness was replaced with a sense of warmth knowing that I had made a new connection.

"We'll have the calamari to start, and I'll have the chicken piccata," I swiftly gestured to Derek with a lighthearted smile as the waiter came over, expecting him to take my order alone. Derek, how about you?"

"I'll have the medium-rare steak," he laughed. I'm grateful.

Over supper , we discovered even more about each other. Derek was a traveler with a passion for photography, and I told him about my dreams of being a writer as well as my love of hiking. We found comfort in the coincidence of our shared interests and the happy accident that had brought us together.

Upon receiving the dessert menus, I couldn't help but feel appreciative of the evening's surprising development. What had started off as a night of disappointment and humiliation turned into a pleasant evening with a fascinating stranger who really wasn’t a stranger at all.

Derek insisted on paying the check when it arrived. He winked and said, "Think of it as compensation for the unfortunate circumstances that brought us here."

I couldn't help but feel that maybe getting stood up had been the best thing that could have happened to me as we walked out of the restaurant together. It sometimes takes a strange turn of events to bring two people together, and in this endearing case, a shared disappointment became the beginning of something new.

[Alone]

The city sounds surround me with blaring noises of cars honking,

I feel trapped like I can’t move, It felt as if my arm would shatter like glass falling onto the ground if I lifted it, I felt so alone I didn’t know how to act or feel, But just then a pigeon landed on my windowsill, With its gray feathered wings and teal feathered neck, Its head bobbing around almost like it was trapped, Almost like the noise pounded in his head like drums blasting in his ears,

As I saw the fearful look in the pigeons eye I could tell how he was feeling, It was almost like we were the same, I put my hand on the frigid glass window wanting to know more,

He looked at me in a way he knew how I way feeling, As I looked back at him I suddenly knew everything he was feeling,

Then with his soft-feathered wings he glided down to the street, And suddenly out of nowhere, the noise stopped, And I was no long attacked by the irritating noise of the city, Because I then knew I wasn’t alone.

Emma Brende

[Ballad of the Arrangement]

Ebony’s neck hurt. Her dress was itchy. Her feet ached from her new shoes. The ceilings were uncomfortably tall for someone her height, or really anyone who wasn’t taller than an old oak. And the sun shone much too brightly through the lace curtains, to where she had to be careful not to look like she was glaring at her company.

The tea he offered was good. And the conversation had so far been good. The books that lined the tall walls were interesting. Yet that was all it had been. Good and curious.

“Could I get you anything? Water? More tea?” Greg asked her, gently resetting his glasses to level.

“Oh, I’m well, thank you!” Ebony was beaming, to which Greg reciprocated. His eyes crinkled up to a crow’s feet as his thin wire glasses slid down his nose once more.

Taking a breath, Eboney evaluated her fiance. He was very cute, yes. His hair was chopped a bit oddly, yes. His height even sitting made her neck sore, yes. But he was ever so kind and thoughtful. And the way he spoke to her made her heart flutter and cheeks sore from smiling.

“Ms. Eggs, I do have a question if you don’t mind?”

“Of course!”

Greg shifted in his seat, “I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed to have taken an interest in the novels,”.

Ebony paled. She hadn’t meant to stare. What if this was it? A girl, too well read drives away her fiance. The fiancee that was set for her since she was seven. The very man that her parents wanted her to marry, filled with absolute hatred towards her. The stuff of nightmares, truely.

“I was wondering if you would like to borrow some?” Greg offered, his cheeks slightly pink, “I’m quite fond of my collection but there’s something in my gut that tells me you would take good care of my books. If you have a favorite genre I’m

sure I can find something that you would adore…” Greg rambled on. His gray eyes shining ever so slightly, they were almost silver. Ebony nodded, shocked as a wave of relief washed all her nerves out of her. As he gracefully stood up and beckoned Ebony over to join him, that fluttering feeling came back. Greg Ravencroft-Johnson, liked reading. No. He loved reading. And Ebony couldn’t help but adore that about her fiance.

Greg paced over to his bookshelf, tracing the spines of his books carefully mummering under his breath. Ebony had yet to see him so passionate for something, so she couldn’t help but watch his excitement.

“Oh yes! Perfect! This one is my favorite! It’s an adorable romance about-” Greg swiftly spun around startling Ebony off her feet. Then just as swiftly, Greg caught her by the waist, his glasses knocking off his face hitting her forehead before clattering to the floor. As the engaged couple looked into each other’s eyes, both in awe, the sun shone brightly through the window, perfectly framing them.

This was love, wasn’t it?

Forest Bear

[Ballad of the Ball]

It had been two days since Ebony disappeared.

Crowen searched for her all night after the ball ended. He waited by the oak tree they were supposed to meet at. When she didn’t show up, he searched the castle garden. After that, the rest of the grounds. Then the streets surrounding the castle. Finally, he searched the castle itself. He had stuck his head in every alley, followed every path, and opened every door. She was nowhere to be found.

The following afternoon, Dutchess Ebony Eggs was officially declared missing by her fiance, Duke Greg Ravencroft-Johnson.

In the time since Ebony had officially disappeared, Crowen hadn’t been able to bring himself to do much. It was silly, he knew, to make such a large commitment to someone he just met. But it was more than that. His decisions had been rushed and poorly planned. Someone was lost because of him. It was his responsibility to find Ebony, and he had no idea where to start.

Crowen sat on his bed with his back against the wall. He had been there for a few hours, wallowing. With the curtains drawn and candles unlit, it felt much later than lunchtime.

There was a knock at the door to Crowen’s chambers. Sir Matt poked his head in.

“Um… Crowen? Sir? Duke Greg is here to see you. Miss Eggs’ fiance. He’s waiting in the parlor.”

Crowen wearily lifted his head from where it was cradled in his hands. “Tell him I’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll tell him,” Sir Matt said. He started to close the door, then paused. “It’s not really my place to ask, but… are you okay, sir? You look… not your best.”

Crowen stared at him blankly, eyes tired.

“I’ll— I’m gonna go tell the Duke you’re coming.” Sir Matt hurried out of the doorway, not bothering to shut the door.

Groaning, Crowen threw his head back against the wall. Ebony’s fiance was here. And he wanted to talk to him. This was going to be a disaster.

The first thing Crowen noticed about Greg was his height. He was tall, about a head taller than Crowen. The second were his eyes. Grey. Mysterious, and a little soft in a way Crowen had to assume was intentionally deceiving. Otherwise his appearance was fairly unassuming, with hair cut a little odd and silver-framed reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. So this was the man Ebony was trapped with.

Crowen clasped his hands behind his back. “Duke Greg. Hello.”

Greg made a face. “You can just call me Greg.” Crowen ignored the comment. “I understand, sir, that you wish to speak to me about your fiance’s disappearance.” “Yes. I had two things I wanted to talk to you about, actually. The first is about you and Ebony at the ball. From what I’ve heard, you were the last to be seen interacting with her. I wanted to make sure I have the story straight.” Greg said.

“That’s a reasonable request,” said Crowen.

“You and Ebony met at the masquerade ball,” Greg said.

“That’s correct.”

“She asked you to run away with her, and you agreed.”

“Yes.”

“But, due to Ebony’s terrible sense of direction, she has now disappeared from the city entirely.”

“Yes, but sir,” Crowen pulled his shoulders back and took in a breath, “I do not have any intention to search for her as a service to you. During our conversation at the ball, she lamented about how she wished to run away from her fiance. If you’re so terrible as to drive her out of the city entirely, I have no interest in helping a man like you. I will do everything in my power to find Ebony and ensure her safety, but rest assured that includes keeping her far, far away from your misconduct.”

Bizarrely, Greg smiled. A smile small enough where Crowen may have missed it had he not been studying the other man’s face so intently, but a smile nonetheless. He walked over to one of the plush chairs and sat, folding his hands in his lap.

“One thing you need to understand about Ebony is that she has a great love of stories. Mostly tall tales of drama and romance and adventure. I’m not doubting the connection you two made. But I assure you, she and I have a perfectly amiable relationship. I’d even go so far as to say we actively enjoy each other’s company on occasion,” Greg said.

“But… Then why would she paint you in such a dishonest light?” Crowen asked. His head was starting to hurt.

“Did she ever actually speak ill of my character? She can be very dramatic if she wants, and drama goes a long way.”

Crowen paused to think. What had Ebony said? The specifics of the ball itself were hazy from the worry that came after.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said after a moment. “Ebony said what she said, and I’m inclined to trust her word over yours.

Greg sighed, “I don’t know what it’s going to take to convince you I wish no harm on Ebony. Frankly, it’s not my place to convince you. Ebony can speak for herself when we find her.”

“When we find her?” Crowen asked. “Why would you be finding her?”

“That was the second thing I wanted to discuss with you. I am going to join whatever search party you form,” Greg said matter-of-factly. “I want to help find my fiance and friend. Make sure she’s safe.”

It was as if Crowen’s life was laughing at him. There was no way this could go well. “I suppose there’s no way to convince you to stay home?”

Greg grinned. “Correct. When do we leave?”

[Ballad of the Dead Body in the Barn]

He noticed her only seconds before the pitchfork would’ve stabbed through her leg. The sight of her lying there, sprawled out face down in a torn red dress, sent him jumping backwards, nearly falling into the adjacent hay bail himself. His heart pounded in his ears as he felt his throat tighten in horror.

There’s a dead body in my barn.

Someone must’ve killed her last night in the storm and hidden her corpse here. Before he could stop it, an even more sickening thought crossed his mind. Oh god. Oh god, did I kill her? I know I drank too much last night, but even intoxicated I wouldn’t go as far as to kill someone! …would I? He strained his mind for any memory of the night before. It was no use, everything was a foggy blur after he had popped the cork from the ale barrels. Groaning softly, his head fell into his hands, the pitchfork slipping out of his grip and landing with a small clank on the hay covered ground. What had he done? How would he explain this to Sally, Sarah, and Sara? Would they have to go on the run? Leave everything they knew and loved behind? And what of the girl’s poor family? He couldn’t imagine the sorrow they would go through when they learned he had taken their daughter’s life away. The girl looked so young, she couldn't have been much older than he was. She still had so much life left to live. And he had taken that from her. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his scalp. He may not have ever met her, but the loss of her life saddened him deeply. Knees too weak to hold his body up any longer, he stumbled backwards into the

hay bail across from the girl’s body. Tears began to leak from his eyes. He knew he had no right to cry. He had been the one who did this, he was the murderer, the accomplice, the injustice. He had no right to feel so hurt, so pained. But the tears wouldn’t stop coming. He buried his mess of a face into his hands in an attempt to muffle his sobs.

“Are… you okay?” a voice asked him.

He responded with a shutter, “No. No, how could I be okay? I’ve just done something horrible. Something that I will never be able to make up for.”

“...Oh. I’m sorry about that?”

“Don’t be. This is the misery I deserve. Whatever comes my way, I will accept it with open arms. Just please,” he added, “make sure Sally, Sarah, and Sara are okay. They deserve better than to be stuck with a brother like me.”

“...Why do two of your sisters have the same name?”

He wasn’t sure exactly why this voice was asking him about his sister’s names, but he was in too frazzled of a state to not answer. “They don’t have the same name. Sarah’s name has a harder pronunciation on the last A. Sara’s name is much softer.”

“That’s still confusing. Who named them that?”

“Their parents?” He finally looked up at who was talking to him. His eyes were too teary to see her clearly, but he could’ve sworn she wore the same red dress that the corpse in the hay had been in. He had never been a superstitious man, but a ghost seemed like the only reasonable explanation.

“Uh, dude, are you alright?” the ghost in the red dress asked him, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It took him a long moment to be able to answer. “I’m so sorry,” he finally managed to get out.

“...about what?”

The tears burst from his eyes once more. “For killing you! For taking your life away! For--!”

“I’m not dead.”

“...What?”

“I’m not dead,” she repeated again, “At least that I know of. And anyway, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I assume this is your barn? I broke in. That’s why the window’s… a bigger window now.” She gestured over to the small window by the barn door that was now more of an extra door. The oak wood paneling was splintering apart, and scraps of lead paint lay chipped apart across the ground. This was the worst damage he had seen on the barn since it had been built by his father fifteen years ago.

“...The door was open,” he stammered, “I don’t lock the door. This is a barn, it doesn’t even have a lock. Did you even try the door?” For a moment he forgot all emotions he had held a few seconds before as he instead stared in shock at the damaged side of his barn. That was going to cost at least three gold coins to fix. That type of money was not the sort of thing you just had lying around.

“Why do you just leave your barn unlocked?” she asked, incredulous, “Anyone could just barge in!”

His irritation was growing. She breaks into my barn, gives me an existential crisis, and is now blaming me for not locking the door? What would it have mattered if the door even had been locked? She would’ve broken in all the same.

She seemed to notice his annoyance, and sighed. “I am genuinely sorry about breaking your barn. I just wasn’t sure where else I could go, and I guess I wasn’t really thinking. I’ll pay for the damages.” She rummaged around in a pocket hidden in the folds of her dress and produced a handful of gold coins and some sparkling gems which must’ve come from only the royalest of houses, which she plopped into his hand. “I hope that’s enough to cover it. If not, I can grab more once I’m back home.”

He studied the coins with shock, “This is way more than I need! I can’t take this much money!” He pocketed the three coins the barn repairs would cost and hurriedly handed her back the rest. What kind of person ran around with a small fortune just thrown into their pocket?

The woman poured the excess coins and gems back into the dress with a shrug, as if she couldn’t see why this was such a big deal.

“I suppose I should be off again,” she ponders, “I was supposed to meet him… well, somewhere. I bet he’s worried sick that I never showed.” She turned to him, “hey, would you happen to know where the oak tree is?”

“I know where an oak tree is. I know where several oak trees are. I don’t know which one you’re talking about,” he was beginning to wonder if she had ever been outside before.

“Which is the oakiest?” she asked, the worry growing in her voice, “I really need to get to that tree.”

All he could do was sigh. “I don’t know how to answer that question. I could point you towards the nearest town if you’d like?”

“No, no I’m trying to leave the town.” Then a thought seemed to occur to her. “Hey, do you have a carrier pigeon I could borrow? I need to send a note to someone.”

Finally something he could actually help her with. “Yeah, we have a rookery.”

It was remarkable how amazed she was by the farmyard. He’d been walking these lands since he could hold a mini toddler-sized shovel, and nothing here seemed particularly fascinating to him. But here she was practically skipping through the muddy pastures of fruit trees, dancing under the overcast sunrise of a sky. It didn’t seem to matter to her that most of the apples had fallen to the ground in a rotten heap by now. She was awestruck.

“You manage all these yourself?” She swung around the trunk of a pear tree, hay covered red dress fluttering around her.

“My sisters help harvest the fruit, but I do the pruning myself, yeah.”

She looked a bit confused. “Your parents don’t help at all? That’s rude of them.”

“Oh, uh,” he paused uncomfortably, “I mean, they’re

not really around anymore.”

“Oh.”

“Uh, yeah.”

An awkwardness filled the air again. He was deeply regretting not just saying they were busy, but she broke the silence.

“That’s even more rude of them.”

The comment took him by such a surprise he couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. “That’s not what you say when someone tells you their parents are gone!”

“But it IS rude of them! Dying is very rude! Am I wrong??”

“I suppose you aren’t, but still.” The baby blue paint of the rookery appeared as they crested the hill. “Ah, we’re here.”

She ran the rest of the way to the small building, which was very impressive for someone wearing as tall of heels as she was. It occurred to him that she had likely walked all the way out here in those. What rich people were willing to do for their fashion was something he had always heard, but had never truly comprehended.

“This is the most adorable rookery!”

He assumed that by ‘adorable’ she meant small, but he chose to accept the kind words anyway. “Sally painted it a few weeks ago. I’ll pass your compliment along.”

The woman in the red dress stood admiring the pigeons in their nests for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time before he realized she was probably waiting for him to tell her which pigeon she could use to send her message. Standing up on his tiptoes, he pulled a squawking gray bird from one of the top nests, clearly irritated about being forced to wake up this early. “Ma’am Pompom DeFluffyfeathers here can deliver your message, she’s the fastest.”

“Your fastest pigeon is named--”

“Sarah and Sara named her when they were like ten and it’s the only thing she responds to. Sarah wanted Pompom, and Sara wanted Fluffyfeathers, so they compromised with both.”

“Oh, I’m not judging. That’s adorable.” She grinned at the bird, who looked angry enough to claw both of their eyes

“Okay, great. I have some stationary back at the house.” He turned around to begin the muddy walk home, but noticed she hadn’t followed. She stood frozen by the rookery, eyes locked on him and an expression of pure shock.

“Why do you have stationary?”

“So I can communicate with the town? I need to be able to let them know if I can’t make it to the Saturday market,” he answered tentatively. Why did she care why he had stationary?

“So you can write? You know words?”

“Yes?”

A smile filled her face. “I know words too!”

She knew words? She could write too? Perhaps even read? He froze just as she had a moment before, eyes wide as he gazed upon her in a new light. She wasn’t just some insensitive noble who broke into barns and kept jewels in her pockets. She knew words, just like he did. Whom had seemed like a nuisance only moments before now shined with intrigue and excitement. He wanted to know her more. Who was this noblewoman who knew how to read? If she knew words just as he had, perhaps they had more in common than he had thought. Perhaps there was a chance for friendship.

It seemed like hours that they stood there, staring into each other’s eyes with newfound revel. Her, with gems in her pockets and him, with an irritated pigeon in his hand. Finally, she spoke.

“Ebony. My name is Ebony. Only daughter of the Eggs family.”

“I’m Caoen,” he stammered, awestruck, “Older brother to Sally, Sarah, and Sara.”

“Caoen, do you have any… book recommendations?” Ebony asked him.

A test! She wants to make sure I really do know words. Caoen thought. He needed to impress her.

“Have you heard of the Adventures of Jungle Bear series?” he responded tentatively, to which she replied with a look of pure joy.

“I have!” she jumped up excitedly, “I love those books! I’ve even read the graphic novel-tapestry version!”

“I didn’t know they made a tapestry adaptation!” He shook his non-pigeoned hand in excitement, “You must let me come by to read it sometime!”

“Of course, you’re welcome to stop by anytime! I’d just need to make sure it’s alright with-- oh.” The excitement drained off her face.

Caoen noticed the shift, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine. I just realized that things are never going to be the same again,” she answered him sadly.

Caoen wasn’t entirely sure what exactly would never be the same, but figured it was too early in their friendship to ask. It had been so long since he had met someone who knew words as well, he didn’t want to risk scaring her off.

“I think Ma’am Pompom DeFluffyfeathers is going to peck my hand off if we stand here too much longer.”

She accepted his topic change. “Yes, I suppose we should get going. I do need to get that letter sent.”

Jungle Bear

[Bleeding Thoughts]

You. A memory. A friend, Or a fear.

I ask why

Why do you come back to me?

Who are you?

What are you? But then you fade

Just a memory.

Just a fear.

Just a friend.

Just myself in the city. In my thoughts. And you say “Am I worth it?” Why are there these thoughts in my head? Hope. Sorrow.

All emotions

But I’m not alone.

I see friends come and go Like the wind.

I live in a world of opportunities, Yet I feel confined. All of these thoughts in my head

Bleeding out, Until I scream out, But nobody hears me.

I walk through the halls where I lived When I was happy.

When I was normal. I feel more saddened every day. I bleed. I cry.

I reach for help. I have hope. You were there. A memory. A friend, Or a fear. All of my bleeding thoughts.

[Street Lit] Eddie Xaysouthep

[Change poem] Anonymous

From first steps to first day, to first A.

Thoughts of Disney princesses I used to think, drowned out, replaced by thoughts of college and plans for the future.

Photo memories, stored in a box for me to find later.

Toys I used to find joy in, out of place in another’s home

Songs that I know every word stored like records in my brain.

Ready to pull out and play at any time

Memories lost and made, traded out like Pokemon cards.

But still treasured

[Cherry Chapstick]

Cream, dirty pages dusted with age and the history of our youth.

The handwritten letters all neat and precise.

Pink imprints, cherry flavored kisses, collide across the mountains of stories. Ones new and old.

Kisses meant for someone else’s lips. Find their way to the pages of cream and dust.

The cherry kissed paper on love letters left to be forgotten.

Bodies left dry and cold. With confessions never to be told.

Sage B

[City Flights]

In urban skies, were towers rise, Feathers grace the urban guise. City birds in flight so free, Weaving trails above the concrete sea. Amidst the noise of city chatter, Feathered fliers find their matter. Adapting to the urban sprawl, Nature’s heartbeat within the thrall.

[cyclamen]

The man who wants to see stars in the cloudy night sky

Who weaves fairy houses in the long grass and furnishes them with flowers

The one who wants to sleep on a bed of moss and one day be absorbed

Who fights off the petulant blackness with with a sharpened quill and a pot of ink

The man who wants to breathe fresh clean air and drink from a mountain stream

The one who wants to touch the sky and the depths of the ocean

But can only reach those depths in paper

The man who is tired of fighting, tired of living, the one who wishes to sing

Like a bird and fly away on a gust of wind like a crisp autumn leaf

His hands shake with every lilting lovely word he writes Looking for freedom in the script he created

He is tired I am tired

Won’t you come lay with me in the moss and the mist until we get absorbed

Carson Moore

[Envy]

I envy God. He envies me. I want to live forever.

The Nothing, after life, scares me. Chills me to the bone. Makes me wonder about things no God has to think about. And yet, God wants what I want. Meaning.

Living forever is meaningless, no consequences for your actions. No affect.

He’s gone mad. Mad with no purpose. I have no purpose, similar to God. I’d take His place in a heartbeat to live among the stars for eternity.

Yet He wants to live, just to die. Why would He want that?

Do the stars look brighter to me simply because I haven’t stared at them as long as He has? Is grass softer because I haven’t laid in it as many times as He has?

Would I also go mad among the stars and planets? Among the secrets of the universe? Would I go mad?

I envy God. He has the answers to the questions I seek, but He wishes, for once, not to know. What He wants more than anything, is to know nothing.

To be blinded by the mortal plane. To look at the sun and accept it as it is rather than know all its secrets.

Why would He possibly want that? I would die to know anything!

Being a mortal, I am left with many questions. Some questions, I’ll never learn the answers to, at least not in this lifetime.

Should I not seek them out? Would finding the mysteries of the universe make living less fun? Less interesting? More questions He knows the answers to, and I do not. I envy Him.

With every bone in my body, I wish to be Him.

[Flutter and Fly]

Rory Wood

Blank pages scattering.

they Flutter and fly.

Small microscopic beads of all different colors roll on by.

Heartless shadows say scarce lies.

Now please help me flutter and fly.

Big wings, small wings,

They ask me which are you,

I say don’t even start,

I want to flutter and fly,

Now see That's all I hope to do.

I have wings that aren’t invisible, We all do.

We can soar, we can float, we can flutter and fly.

But that leads to the question how do we flutter and fly, The answer is up to you,

How will you flutter and fly?

[Flying Into The Horizon]

Alora Alsleben

Pigeons flying overhead

Ivory white feathers

Golden eyes, like glistening gold

Emerald greens on their necks shimmering like gems

Overhead they fly effortlessly

Navy blue bars on their wings, an air of elegance

Silver feathers they have, along with the ivory white

Flowing through the sky around the buildings

Like a river

Yellow eyes piercing my soul

Ivory white feathers

Nature has created these beautiful creatures

Golden eyes, like glistening gold

Ivory white feathers

Navy blue bars on their wings, an air of elegance

The sliver, ivory and black checkered feathers

Overhead they fly

Horizons in their eyes

Orange bars on the wings of some

Red bars on the wings

Ivory

Zinnwaldite brown on their feathers

Ivory

Overhead flying into horizons

Navy blue skies

Silver, Ivory, Red, Black and Orange feathers

[Gravy Dentures]

Lucy Collmer

“Hon, you need more than that,” Rosine, my almostgrandma says, motioning for the volunteer in front of us to dump another ice cream scoop of instant potatoes onto my plate, “How about some jello salad?”

“No thank you,” I say with the least amount of disgust I can muster. All these years coming to Larkwood Retirement Home to visit my grandma and Rosine, and she still hasn’t caught on that I absolutely despise the stuff.

“Your loss,” she says, dumping a jiggling blob onto her plate. The flickering cafeteria light fixtures hum above our heads as we shuffle forwards in line and Rosine gives a dirty look at a couple at the table to our left. I’m sure she’ll tell me all about her beef with them later. I swear, she has a new bit of gossip or a different grudge on one of her neighbors every week. She’s lucky none of them can hear too well, otherwise half the retirement home would probably hate her at this point.

“Hey- you shouldn’t stare so hard,” I whisper, “You’re not being very discreet, they might notice yo…”

I stop in surprise as I see a face that is familiar, but out of place.

“Gravy?” the boy in front of me asks, grinning, a mammoth crock pot of gravy in front of him. I just nod. It doesn’t matter. I hardly know him. He just goes to my school. Still, the fact that he’s here feels inexplicably wrong. It sets me on edge. I’m supposed to know every detail here. Every crack on the tiled floor, every creaky step. Everything is supposed to be predictable.

“Of course! Life is too short to not eat gravy!” Rosine says, as I stare at the wall behind her, trying to stop worrying about it. It’s fine. It is. Just fine, except my chest feels all tight all of the sudden, like there isn’t enough oxygen in my lungs, and

there can’t possibly be, because it feels like something black and smoky is creeping into them—

“SPLASH!”

I stare at what I think are Rosine’s dentures somehow suddenly submerged in the gravy as the boy immediately reaches in, scoops them out, and hands them back to Rosine without a beat. She stuffs the still gravy covered dentures back in her mouth before I can process exactly what just happened.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry!” Rosine says, her words a little messy from the gravy squished between her dentures and gums. I stare at the pot of contaminated gravy, then back at her.

“No, it’s okay- I don’t even understand how that happened- but it's really not that big of a deal,” the boy says reassuringly, then his eyes widen with realization. “Oh wait… but this is going to have to go to the trash now.” He looks down at the gravy with the same amount of sadness on his face that most people might express if they were mourning a beloved goldfish or being forced to eat jello salad.

“I’m really sorry,” I say, finally finding my voice, “I can help clean it up.”

“No, it’s okay, it was an accident,” he says genuinely, “I should be able to clean it up alright.”

“Please let me help,” I say. I can tell he doesn’t want us to feel bad, but his regretful expression when he realized it was trash is making me feel really guilty. I don’t want him to remember me as the problem-causing girl at some nursing home,

“Please, this is our fault anyways.”

He shrugs, and gives me a confused smile. “If you want to, I guess.” I hand my food off to Rosine so I can unplug and pick up the pot and the boy pushes the swinging door open for me.

“Thanks hon. I’ll see you at our usual table. Damn, Brenda better not have taken our bingo cards again,” Rosine mutters, taking our food and heading into the maze of tables. We enter the kitchen, and he pulls off his gravy-covered gloves and grabs a giant box of Insta-Gravy off the shelf.

“We’re going to have to make some more,” he says, putting on new gloves, “And you should probably get a hairnet, Dilia. I hope that scary lady that signed me in doesn’t find out that I let someone into the kitchen.”

I laugh nervously as I dump the gravy into the trash.

“You mean Anneke? She’s known me since I was nine. She lets me come in here sometimes to help her make cookies, so don’t worry.”

“Oh good, otherwise I might've ended up six feet under,” he says, putting on more gloves and adding milk and the powder to a pot.

“No, I’ll make sure you aren’t murdered,” I say, putting a hairnet on and trying to push down my unnecessary nerves.

“What a relief,” he says, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

“Yeah… uh, what’s your name again?” I ask sheepishly.

“Jules,” he smiles. “And your name is Dilia,” he says confidently.

“Yep,” I give him a thumbs-up awkwardly.

“Coolio.”

I turn to the sink, unsure what to say. Thick silence settles over the room. I begin wiping the pot, staring at my fingers, focusing on the texture of the sponge against my hands, trying not to pay attention to the dark smoke slowly creeping up, filling my lungs as I try to think of something to say.

“How long have you been coming here? It must’ve been a long time,” Jules says, bridging the space between us as he stirs the mix together. The weight comes off my chest.

“Yeah, it's been a while. Ever since my grandma moved here, about six years ago,” I say. “She was amazing. But she died two years ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He looks really apologetic.

“It’s not your fault.” The hot soapy water feels nice against my hands as I scrub away the chunks of gravy.

“Uh, so, was that your other grandma out there?”

“Kind of?” I dump a little bit more soap onto the sponge.

“She became my grandma’s roommate when she moved here, and they became really close. We would always go for

ice cream at Jimmie’s on the corner on Sundays together, the three of us.” I take the pot from him. “She might’ve been more devastated than I was when she passed. I still see her on Sundays, but she can’t stand to go there anymore. Now I just come to visit her here.” I realize how much unnecessary information I am sharing. “Sorry for rambling.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he says, setting the pot gently on the stove next to me. The comforting smell of cafeteria gravy wafts into my nose. “Your grandma sounds really cool.”

“Yeah…” I think about the smell of her clothes, vanilla perfume mixed with the scent of cigarettes. Swimming at her pool when I was little when she still lived in a condo. The tacky bar magnets that covered her fridge. “She had her flaws, but she was one of the most loving people I’ve ever met. I miss her a lot.” I wipe the pot out with a towel. I honestly don’t know why I’m telling him all this. “Uh, why are you here?”

“NHS hours. I figured this would be a good place to volunteer, since I have a lot of experience cooking. Although, I’m not sure if this counts as cooking.” He looks at the box of powdered gravy on the counter across from him skeptically.

“Don’t tell Anneke, she’s always bragging that she could be on Chopped,” I say.

He laughs, then looks at me with a confused smile.

“You’re very different here. At school you’re always so quiet.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I wasn’t even sure if he would recognize me from school. I know we have a few classes together, but I don’t exactly put myself out there. “I usually keep my head down.”

“You have such a nice laugh, and I’ve never even heard it before,” he says, turning the stove off. The compliment takes me by surprise, as does the matter of fact-ness he says it with. As if he’s not even trying to compliment me, just stating a fact.

“Good thing I’m going to be here again next week, I’ll get to talk to you more!”

“Yeah,” I say with a smile, and surprisingly it’s genuine.

“Also, sorry for scaring you earlier,” he says as he ladles

the gravy back into the crockpot.

“What?”

“When you first saw me? You looked like you had seen a ghost.”

“No-”

“No I get it, you just weren’t expecting to see me here and not at school.”

“Sorry, you seem really nice, it’s just-” I try to figure out how to explain it. “Here is sort of a safe, accountable place for me, and school is… not the most,” I finally say, and it’s truer than I realized.

“Ah. Well, I will try my best to- act safe and accountable? That sounds weird. You know what I mean, you can trust me.”

“Okay,” I say hesitantly. He smiles at me again, and it feels like it unwraps the black from my lungs a little more.

“As for now,” he gestures to the crockpot of gravy, “I have to get this and go back out there. Will you hold the door for me?”

“Of course!”

He brings it out, but instead of setting it on the table where it was before, weaves through the crowd to where Rosine is sitting. When I get there, he’s dumping gravy on her plate.

“Gravy delivery!”

“Why thank you!” She exclaims, elbowing her friend Marlene. “What a nice young man, don't cha think, Marlene?”

“Very sweet, a real gentleman.”

“Right to my plate and everything! I feel like it’s my damn birthday!” She stands up and wraps him in a big hug.

“No, I mean, you can't go without gravy. It’s no big favor.” He says. His face is sort of red. “Dilia helped a lot too.”

“Oh good!” She finally lets go of him. “Well, I’m simply starving!” She sits down and begins scooping up her mashed potatoes as Marlene begins telling a story.

“Sorry,” I whisper, but amazingly I don’t feel the overwhelming wave of panic I normally would. I actually feel okay now- albeit a bit embarrassed.

“No- it was nice of her,” he says, slowly recovering. “I

just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Yeah, her hugs are extreme,” I laugh.

“Anyways, I’m sorry, but I need to go serve the rest of this gravy.”

“Oh- yeah, of course,” I say, and for some reason I feel a little disappointed.

“But I’ll see you at school right?” He asks, and it soundshopeful?

“Uh, yeah! I’ll make sure to actually say hi tomorrow.”

“Great!” He grins again. I swear, he smiles more than anyone I’ve ever met. “Bye Dilia, see you soon!”

He waves quickly, and just like that he’s bounding off back to the front of the cafeteria.

“Bye Jules,” I whisper, a small smile on my face as I watch him go.

[hidden]

stale and emotionless alone with your mind

you are hidden, not gone you are hazy, not invisible

i still see you small as you still think you are

hidden, behind your eyes hazy, but still, i see you

you’re not a god nor a demon simply a monotone limbo

hidden, inside not out hazy, still pure

you may be stale and emotionless, but you are not alone

R.S. Gardner

[Untitled]

Avery Shoemaker

Alice, 9:34

[Life of the Party]

HR

His name is James. Him and Lori used to work together at a pizza place last year. She insisted that he came. His mom got him that shirt, he never would have bought it for himself. He doesn’t like parties either.

We’ve been making casual conversation for twelve minutes now. I like him. He seems nice. He’s funny. I like him more than everyone else at this party. Everyone else talks too loud and too much. But, then again I have only known him for twelve minutes. Maybe he’s a serial killer, plotting my demise in his head right now. He doesn’t seem like a murderer, right? I hope not. I don’t think Lori would befriend a serial killer.

He said something to me and is waiting for a response. I didn’t hear what he said because I was thinking about him killing me.

“Hm?”

“How do you know Lori?” he repeats.

“Oh, we went to highschool together.”

“Oh, cool. So you grew up here?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Born and raised.”

“Do you like it here?”

“I guess,” I reply, not totally sure of myself. “I mean, it’s sort of boring other than the pretty views. But it’s home. And it’s not like I really want to live anywhere else. I can’t complain.” He nods.

“So, you’re not from here then?” I ask.

“No, I came here for college. I’m from Idaho.”

“Do you like Idaho?”

He rubs his neck. “It’s okay, I guess. I mean- I don’t know. It was fine. But it kinda sucks. I don’t know.”

“I understand what you mean, that’s how I feel. How are you liking it here?”

“It’s alright. A bit better than Idaho. Kinda boring, like you said. But I like it. I don’t know, I think I’m just not happy anywhere,” He chuckles.

I laugh. “So you’re in school?”

“Oh, well I was. I graduated last year. I decided to stick around.”

“Oh! That’s interesting, you didn’t want to go back to Idaho that bad, huh?” I laugh.

“Yeah, I wasn’t super eager to get back to Idaho,” he says. “So, are you in school?”

“I’m a senior,” I say.

“Cool,” he says. “What’s your major?”

“Communications. I figured I could get a lot of jobs with that.”

“Smart.”

“What about you?” I ask.

“I was an English major. Which is really boring, but I can get some stable jobs with it, I guess. I don’t know. I like reading and writing,” he laughs.

I laugh too. “What do you want to do?”

He rubs his neck. “Oh, God, I have no idea,” he laughs, “That’s a big question. Who really knows what they want to do with their lives right now?”

Why the hell would I ask that? I laugh to cover up my embarrassment. “Yeah, I don’t really know what I want to do either. I think I'll get an office job. I think I’ll be fine with that.”

“Really?” he says. “Office jobs seem so… mundane. I don’t know, I think the routine of it would kill me. Like, the same thing every day? Forever? I couldn’t take that. And office jobs don’t really contribute to the greater good of the world. I feel like I need to contribute to, like, world peace or some-

thing.”

“I get that. But I like routine. I like mundanity. I’m good at it. And we can’t all be contributing to the greater good. Some of us just have to sit it out and take notes at a meeting.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Hey, do you want to go outside? There’s too many people in here, I feel like I’m being closed in on,” It’s like he read my mind.

James, 9:45

Her name is Alice. She went to high school with Lori. She likes routines. And she’s really pretty. Not that I’ve only been noticing her looks. Obviously. But she’s really pretty. She’s wearing purple, which is my favorite color. It’s her favorite color too.

The sky is clear tonight. You can see the stars. It kind of feels like those scenes you see in movies when the two people with a lot of tension name the constellations, or something like that, but I don’t know anything about that.

Like she’s reading my mind, she says “The sky is so pretty tonight.”

“Yeah,” I say. I hope she’s not expecting something like that to happen right now. “You can see all the um… stars.”

“Yeah. So pretty. I always liked night more than the day. Less responsibilities.”

“Agreed,” I say. I wish I had more to say to her, but I really don’t. I’m just enjoying her presence.

A few moments of silence pass before we hear the door slide open and a familiar, cheery, voice starts talking to us.

“Alice! James! I have been looking for you!” says Lori. “I actually meant to introduce you guys to each other tonight. I thought you’d get along. Guess I was right.”

“Guess so,” says Alice. “How's it going in there? You seemed busy, chatting away with everyone. Seemed over-

whelming.”

“Oh, you know,” Lori replies. “Just trying to keep everyone entertained, making the rounds.”

“Right,” Alice says. “Sounds like a lot of fun.” Her comment makes me laugh, because it does not sound fun, at all. But Lori doesn’t seem to think it’s funny. That is fun for her. My idea of fun would probably be sitting in my bed, with the heater on, reading a very good book.

“Well, I came out here to get you, James. Todd is here, I thought you might want to say hi.”

Todd worked with us. I don’t know why he’s here because he and Lori were certainly not friends, just coworkers who got along well. Me and Lori were actually friends. But Lori is too nice, she would invite anyone to these things. I wouldn’t mind seeing Todd again because he was a nice guy, and I also don’t want to sound like a douche, so I say “okay.”

“Um, I’ll see you again later, right?” I ask Alice before I leave her in the backyard.

“Yeah, yeah! I’ll find you. Or, um, you’ll find me, maybe. I don’t know, we’ll find each other,” she says, awkwardly laughing.

It’s hard to see since it’s dark, but I swear I see her blush.

[My Pizza]

Olive Giuliani

The smell of New York

The pigeons flying by

My delightful Pizza

Cheesy and soft

Oh my what is he doing here?

His pitch black eyes staring into my soul

What does he want

He flies up on my table

His eyes stare at My Pizza

No way

My Pizza

All mine

I take a big bite like there's no end

My Pizza

All Mine

[untitled] Avery Shoemaker

[My shadow]

My shadow is the part of me I wish I was. No one stares at it, no one judges it. My shadow is the perfect part of me that my mother she could have but can not. My shadow wouldn’t forget to write down what I did at school, my shadow is quiet and doesn’t speak. My shadow does everything right. My shadow doesn’t have to deal with what is going on at home. I could never be my shadow because it is one thing I’m not… because my shadow is free.

Anonymous

[Pigeons]

That pigeon is so graceful but that one is gross. It is all gray, and its feathers seem old, but that other one seems so beautiful. I wish I were a dove but I’m just a blue jay. blue jay prettier than a pigeon but not by much… at this point blue jays are uglier. I’d rather be a raven. I’d blend in easier than a blue jay. Yes, there are thousands of blue jays but we are big and blue and it makes me stand out even though I’m not special. I’m a REGULAR blue jay so would people just treat me like it? Or maybe I’d rather be the thing I find ugly so often but I could still blend in better. I want to be a pigeon… a regular pigeon…

Milo

[Regarding the Long Face]

sage fern (pen name)

A horse walked into a wall. The walltender said:

“What is my purpose? What shaded foul god spat me from its unfathomable teeth?”

“What?” said the horse.

“Why am I here? Simply to tend to this wall? Why must it be tended to? Why shouldn’t it be bleached and washed away by the winds, … the ropes … of entropy? …”

The walltender extended an ink emaciated arms, like the wings of something unspeakable, skeletal, connected by strands of ancient decayed muscle overcome with lichen and mold. She peered her miniscule head from the confines of the great concrete slate. The wall was, and always had been something that stretched for miles across the pale wastes. It might take months to walk aside its surface. The walltender opened her rows of inky eyes, each one like an oily black pinhole torn gingerly into her papery flesh.

“How is it up there?” Went the equine voice.

“Cold...”

“I don’t think I know why we’re here either… ‘come to think of it…”

As the walltender swallowed it was as if a river had flown again, after millennia.

“It smells of… the end… like ash and ruin. Like… worlds between worlds”

“I think it smells more like fennel,” said the horse.

The walltender paused in the ancient way that she did. She promptly let out a microtonal shriek, like pieces of ancient sandstone dryly sliding against each other.

The pair paused. The white noise of moving air echoed off of the concrete waste. The air was thick and dusty as if bits of dead skin were drifting across the abyss. Spilling from the walltender’s face was a tear in the form of a great obsidian orb. The two stared at the country sized sphere. Amongst the two of them there was a silent, unspoken conclusion that nothing really amounted to anything.

[Secure in Insecurity]

Jasmine E

Insecurity is my new best friend. She’s stayed by my side when I was left and forgotten. Never too far away, always close by. And yes she can be harsh, yes she may lie. But at least she won’t ever leave me stranded out in the cold. For Insecurity too, is a tired and broken soul. Most shy away from her touch, afraid to come near. For her critical comments and critiques, they all hate and fear.

I used to be like them, avoiding her piercing eyes. I’d try to drown out her laughter and lies. But then the time came where I was left, and no one looked back.

All that I had known was burned to ash. I’d no sense of direction, was confused betrayed and scared. But she took my hand, she was always there.

She’s stuck with me ever since, she’s now my closest friend. And with her here I know, I won’t be alone like that again. I’ve come to love her laughter, the lying in her word. For we both now feel seen, understood and heard. I used to hate how she’d trap me in her smothering embrace. But now I let her wrap her arms around me, for I know she’s the only one who’ll always stay.

[luh calm street lit]

[she who hangs the moon]

Someday you’ll find her- she who hangs your moon and your sun Who waltzes through shadows ‘till the stars come undone

Whenever I see them, my heart comes undone Her brown eyes, two weapons intended to stun

I’m wondering what it must feel like to stun With a single glance she could entrance anyone

Love’s but a spell that could entrance anyone Surmising you’re free means it’s only begun

For every time I pray that it’s only begun I fall on a spider’s web to which I am spun

Drowning in visions of each time she’s spun With passion and accuracy second to none

Why, each thing about her is second to none That she, who hangs my moon and my sun

Elishiya C.K.

[Untitled]

Laurel Prastka

[The Alarm of Adolescence]

Vivian Collmer

What happened to those sticky summer days That once seemed so innocent and pure? What happened to our childlike, carefree haze, With pretty skies azure?

What happened to toothless smiles, And dancing in the rain, What happened to fairy tale endings, And scraped knees being the worst of our pain?

What happened to toy covered floors, The way your laughter would carry through the air, What happened to magic tricks, And your wondrous, gaping stare?

What happened to barefoot In the sprinkler watered grass, Recess and story time And naps during class?

What happened to the mystery of the night When we would stare at the stars, What happened to our imaginative play, What happened to going to Jupiter and Mars?

What happened to our pristine minds, And our carefree souls, What happened to box mac n cheese In little plastic bowls?

What happened to Velcro shoes And tiny footsteps up the stairs, What happened to half-hazard blanket forts, And ghost stories raising your hairs?

What happened to you and me, Our sweet childhood too, What happened to our perfect innocence, What happened to me and you?

[The City And The Sky]

anonymous

The sky sits atop the billowing clouds above the city. The sky watches all below;

only the pigeons that fly through the clouds can see the sky with all its twinkling stars. The city is its own sky, watching below. The sky watches adobe wall the city watches below. Only the sky can see all the city and only the city can see all the sky. The sky wishes it was the city and the city wishes it were the sky. Both are

bound to never meet so they both wait for the pigeons to come and tell Stories of the different worlds. The city and the sky both are nothing alike but drawn together by fate. Made one day they both will meet. only time will tell.

[The Lighthouse & I]

Lulu Duncan

Sweet peach skies on a misty afternoon

Shadows cast a warm shield upon the overgrown willows

Consumed by grass and shiny little daffodils

Dampened by the rain

The air sings a bittersweet song on the quiet afternoon

My feet rest on the chipping park bench painted light blue

I watch the towering figure in the near distance get consumed by the waves

Like a lion to its prey

Even then it stands strong

Time and time again

This time

I wish I could spend an eternity here

The hours slowed

Every second spent gives me life

Arising from the light I journey

Onto the cold gray cobblestone leading way to water

One step at a time until I arrive

The white shines brighter up close

The red deepens as it's craved by the rushing waves

Endless blue

Loneliness towering over me

At what cost is freedom?

Hanging above me beautifully

Admiring from the outside

She lets her legs loosen

Catching the air with her delicate hands

Capturing the beauty of the sea

In her swift movements

Life is given to the waves

The figure standing before her feels a little less alone

A little more free

The waves dance

Not to consume

But to set free

We dance together

Until the stars shine bright in the sky

And the wind picks up

Chilling this warm night

We dance side by side

Until tired arms

And restless eyes tear us apart

Leaving to be remembered

As I will return

And the beauty of this night will live forever within

We will dance together again

The waves, the sky, the stars, the wind

The lighthouse and I

[The Nature Of Life]

A life’s like a tree, the nature of it all

A person can change, from summer to fall

One’s self becomes rooted

One’s innocence leaves

Maturing and growing,

Like a tree in the breeze

Aurora Maayen

[The Troubles of a Bird]

The life of a bird can be a simple thing: Unhindered, free. But then, if you think, It can be protecting a nest of three, Nearly swallowing a house key, Not being able to nest in a tree, Living life without a safety guarantee, Almost being run over by an SUV, The troubles of a pigeon in the city.

The nest may be old, The living might be tough, Yet the pigeon will live, The pigeon will thrive, And they will survive, So if they can, So can we.

Scarlet Lowrance

[Tired] Anonymous

I can get tired of the same meal, the same routine, the same people the same town, the same route, the same movie, the same book, the same home, the same smells, but somehow, I’m never tired of You.

[Walk to School: Spring]

Lillie Sawyer

Wet wild wind wanders by while Water splatters on the cracked concrete. When you walk under the rainy showers, Talk to the flowers in full bloom nearby. Stand underneath the blue sky, when the clouds float away. And go to school with a head held high, While winter fades away.

[Fat King Pigeon]

Emily Nemnich

[Where the Leaves Sway]

There once was a valley High in the sky That grew hundreds Of lush, green trees. All kinds of trees, From big to small, Birch to oak, Young and old, It had them all. The valley was filled To the brim With trees. There was nothing else either, Not animals, Nor humans, Not even streams!

Just lush, green trees. They swayed in the wind Throughout the day and the night. There was no sound at all Except for the whistle of the breeze Through the trees. The lush, green trees. That was a very long time ago, That this valley With all the trees Existed.

It was a peaceful place, A Calming place, With only the sound of the Swaying of the leaves

On the trees. The lush, green trees. It was the giants, The humans, The angry little sprites, That destroyed the trees. They came during the night To break the trees, To cut the trees, To kill the trees. And the valley, High in the sky, Was no more. And the trees In the valley, The trees that swayed In the wind

Throughout the day and the night, The trees big and small, Birch to oak, Young and old, They were all gone. The lush, green trees We're no more.

Johanna Hertel

[Yvette]

maiaaa

Yvette was at the bus stop. I was a half block away and approaching. She wore her backpack on one shoulder. Her dark hair was loose and swirling around her face and down her thin shoulders. I put a hand into my own hair. It was tangled and I tore out a knot. I dropped the clump of hair on the sidewalk. She pulled out her phone and looked at it until I was five feet away. She put it into her back pocket. She looked up at me, her dark eyes (lidded with smudged liner) staring. She smelled like citrus. I tried to smile, but my lips just thinned. I picked at my sleeve, passing her and continuing down the road.

Yvette was at the bus stop. It was raining lightly, mist settling over the road and blurring the street lights. She was sitting on the small bench meant for passengers waiting. Her jacket was pulled tightly around her frame. A car ran through a puddle and splashed the hems of my pants and speckled up my legs. She looked at me apologetically, glancing at the damage. I tried to look above-it-all and walked past.

Yvette was at the bus stop. She wore black mittens but a short dress. The air was quiet and I heard her clear her throat. She stared at her phone. I watched her eyes blink. I approached quietly, but still she looked up. Her lips were lined with dark brown and colored with rouge. Her hair was pulled up. We made eye contact for a few seconds. She looked uncomfortable and looked down at her shoes. I looked at them too. They were scuffed and untied.

“Your shoes are untied.” I said, passing her and continuing down the road. If she tied them, I do not know.

ROACHES

[Bubblegum]

Back of the class

Hidden behind a short-haired boy

My eyes droopy

Will this continue to be a trend

No sleep at night

Tired at day?

Bubble gum

Chewing rhythm keeps me awake

Daydreams about what life might have been like

Bubble gum flavor gone

Swallowed it down

Again

The next seven years

Will be pretty dull

[Chalk]

The simplest things can make your day. I had been staring at that screen for five hours. Locked away from sun and air. Doing what I’ve done everyday for a year. The reflection in my laptop of bloodshot eyes mocked me. I couldn’t take their sarcasm. Even wearing my glasses they continued to burn. Slowly, I got up. I made my way to the window to escape them. It was nice to stretch my achy hips.

I looked through the glass, muddled by fingerprints. The end of the block was the extent of my vision. Even so, I could see the two-story dull houses lining the street. None of my neighbors were out.

Eventually, a basket of rainbow chalk caught my attention. Straining, I saw it waiting, begging, for someone to take it in their hands. Its colors were a stark contrast to the drab houses. Seeing it reminded me of the good times. When my eyes didn’t burn or my legs creaked. When my brothers and I had renovated our neighborhood with color.

As I stared, a girl with long dark brown hair came out of a gray house. Her bright blue shirt complimented the rainbow basket across the street. I had never seen her before. The kids in the neighborhood don’t go outside often. The only things I could now see were chalk and her t-shirt. The girl seemed drawn towards the basket, the same as me. A couple slow steps forward, looking from side to side, she made her way towards it. She sat down and grabbed a piece of yellow chalk. I witnessed a flower bloom from its tip. The girl drew more. In just five minutes, a foot of sidewalk was full. Alive as it had probably ever been, bursting with color.

My next door neighbor, Sean I believe, was the next to arrive. He wore a paper mask. Standing on his front porch, he caught sight of the girl and the chalk. How could he not? They

were the only things of interest nearby. He began to walk towards her. When he arrived, the two of them exchanged words. Sean began to draw. Side by side with the girl.

In a few minutes the two of them had covered an entire square of concrete with little flowers, rainbows and song lyrics. As they stepped back to examine their work so far, the girl seemed to notice me watching from the window. She waved and beckoned for me to join. I grabbed my raincoat and ran as quickly as my body would let me. I nearly fell down the stairs in my rush. Before opening the door I grabbed my mask and laced up my shoes. The colors of the chalk were even more vibrant outside.

When I finally arrived, I sat down in puff. Sweaty and out of breath I surely looked ridiculous. My neighbors didn’t mind. My hands shook with excitement as I reached out towards the rainbow bucket. Chalk was one of my childhood smells, the ones you never forget.

“Thank you for helping us!” The girl said later after I had drawn a rainbow the length of my arm span. She started to explain what she was doing with the chalk and her name. She told both Sean and I that her brother had gotten Covid. In gruesome detail she explained his predicament, staring out the window at the lifeless street. Just as I had been a minute before. She wanted to make him, and anybody else that needed it, happy.

When she said that final word, an idea clicked into my brain. I explained my idea to the girl. Looking around, we could see several similar bloodshot eyes peering through their houses blinds.

I grabbed a piece of yellow chalk. It matched the sun now beginning to poke through the clouds. I wrote in giant letters. My back ached as I stooped low to grind the chalk into the street. I went from one sidewalk to the other letting my hands get filthy. I was covered from head to toe in chalk. I had written

“Come smile” large enough to be seen from space.

After thirty minutes the entire neighborhood had come out of their houses. Everyone was drawing on the sidewalk and street. Some people had brought their own baskets of chalk.

Others were sharing large boxes. The entire street was soon covered in designs. Some were as elaborate as mandalas and others as simple as a rainbow.

I had filled over twenty sidewalk squares. My boss was surely mad at me for missing our meeting. I did not care. It was all worth it when I looked up. In the window of the girl’s gray house, I saw a young boy smiling out the window. The simple act of drawing had brightened his, mine, and everyone else’s day.

[Cicadas at the diner]

Content Warning: Death

“Emmaaaaaaa”

“Coming!” I shouted back. I wondered what she wanted but when I entered the kitchen no one was there except my cat. I started to get worried but then I saw my sister’s long black hair poking out of a blanket on the floor everything made sense but I still played along

“Yes?” I said. I heard a giggle “Did you need me?”

“No,” said my sister

“Well,” I said I guess I will just go up to my room and eat all of Emarie’s candy

“No,” shouted my sister. “DON’T EAT MY CANDY”

“Ok, OK” “just clean up this mess and I will make your lunch, ok?”

“Ok”

“Listen,” I said “you can hear the cicadas”

“Daddy loved the sound of cicadas. Do you remember?”

“yes,” I said, “I remember he used to say that they are what brought him and Mom together one night when Dad went out to look at them he saw Mom and they lived happily ever after”.

“And then he died,” Emarie said as she burst into tears, crying and whining. When Emarie gets like this it is best to let her cry. When Dad first died she was like this every day but now it is just on occasion. I start filling up the bathtub, making ants on a log and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. My dad died a few years ago and it was very painful for Emarie. She was only 6 ½. I was 11. My dad went to work one morning and never came back. He was gone for 2 days before we got a phone call, From

the state, Telling us that he was dead. After that Emarie has never been the same.

For one thing, she is a lot sadder than she was before. For instance, Emarie loved playing with dolls. She would make intricate stories but now when she plays with her dolls they all die.

I know she needs to talk to someone about her feelings but I can’t afford it. We don’t have much time in the house either, with Mom never here and we don’t have any money. My uncle Greg owns a diner that he says we can stay in. The attic has heating and he said that we can wash dishes for food. It sounds so great but when school starts again in the fall I will have to walk her to and from school every day. While going to school myself. Normally wouldn’t care how good of an education Emarie or I got but my dad cared about that so that’s what we will do

“Ok Emarie,” I say “let’s get you in the bath, and then we will have lunch ok”?

“Ok”

While I get her in the bath I look around at all the stuff in our house, all the paintings, all the decorations, all of it in just a few short days none of it will be there. I try to imagine another family living here but I can’t because this is the only home I have ever had, same with Emarie.

“I’m done, is my food ready yet?”

“Yep go get dressed then we can eat” A few moments later she is downstairs and sitting in her special chair. The one our Dad made for her.

“Are you ready to leave and start packing up?”

“Yeah I guess”

“Make sure to put all of your clothes in your suitcase”

“Ok, but what about the couch?”

“Well we are going to live in an attic it won’t fit”

“But I love Mr. Couch”

“We can bring the couch cushions but not the frame, it won’t fit ok?”

“Ok”

When we were done eating Emarie went to her room and started packing while I called my uncle and told him to pick us up tomorrow.

“I’m done,” Emarie said.

“OK, let me see”

I look in Emerie’s room and it still has all of its stuff in it.

“Your room is not ready yet you can go downstairs and pick out the couch cushions that you want to bring”

My dad has a grave but it is far away so we don’t get to go and visit him often. All my grandparents are dead. I have an aunt but her homing situation is worse than ours so my Uncle was the best option. When I’m done packing up Emarie’s room I pack up my own, put her to bed, and pack up the rest of the house.

The next morning we say goodbye to the house and go to our Uncle Greg’s diner. Greg also lives in the diner but he lives on the main floor. When we get there around 11:40 and have the rest of the day to finish unpacking. The loft is way bigger than I expected, we have room for both mattresses, 2 dressers, 2 couch cushions and there is an outlet so we have lamps and fairy lights. It’s no castle but it will do.

Then Emarie says “Do you think that Dad would have liked this?”

“No Emarie I think that Dad would have loved it”

Everlyn Bag is Awesome

Lennox Blodgett

[Clouds]

the clouds blue gray are wrinkles in the white sky Moving fast like they are rushing to get to a flight. in a sense they are, they are rushing to get to that next flight that next country just like me. just like me they’re wrinkles creases in the near perfect surface catching all the things like a net and saving the ones below from the horrors they know.

anonymous

[cosmiccosmiccosmic (shattershot)]

I’m eating the stars with my eyes

My irises are full, so I’m drooling out tears

My teeth ache from nerves in my face

Completely cross-wired

They have their own places to go

But I try and say hi to them all, the stars (Not my nerves)

Bid them farewell in the same breath

They’re so fast, so fast

My legs cramping and my breath is short

Thinking about running after them (God they’re so fast)

Hitting the window and asking them to stop

To brake please brake

In reality they’re stagnant

I’m the one streaking by (I forgot to introduce myself to them all)

Reds reds red

Getting red red and redder

Same with my eyes Blood vessel popping only to grow back

My vision is a splatter factory at this point

The janitor is just watching the mess get worse

In its purest bite, (the heart of the cinnamon roll), she holds me tightly in her teeth

She grows me back and propels me forward all in the same motion (but she doesn’t love me)

Having tried to pass me off to her sister many times before (So many times before)

But death just doesn't like my voice (she’ll hear it soon enough) And my skin is just so volatile with all the sweat (it's so stuffy up in this cockpit)

It’s started to fog my goggles

So I slip down a slope, with no real incline beneath me

There's nothing beneath me, tangibility is void I'm on a cosmic slip and slide, wet with everything but water (1.I want water so bad)

Wearing a helmet decorated by a sugar crashed fragment(2.God its so hot and sticky in here) of somewhere on my timeline

Like the nerves in my face

Cross-wired

(1.I should have taken a sedative) (2.there's no honor in that) (3.they said that) (4.but you said you don't care what they say?)

I’ve covered the countdown on the ship’s dash

How close I am to collision

My head hurts too much for my life to flash before my eyes

It’s too many bright colors in the middle there

the music that's left stains my tongue and teeth

It creates a soundtrack for that middle bit (a pretty good one too)

Ultra violent and iridescent I was freedom and I was fight (I still am fight)

(I think)

Would I have traded it?*

What I could have been

If I had trimmed the abnormal down

Or taken to its neck with a guillotine of some societally imposed responsibilities

Caffeine under my fingernails every morning and The taste of stamps on my tongue

*no

*no, I wouldn't have

I was always going to die young

That's what I always knew, I have it tattooed on my inner bottom lip

In the back of a van roasting in the hot sun (good God it was an oven)

I was told those tattoos tend to fade

But the needle was already digging in I was always going to die young

I thought I'd be in my own jacket when it happened is all

I don’t regret my time

Young, atomic, flashy and with the pedal breaking through the floor

But I guess you can only burn bright for so long

Only so much fuel, only so many fumes to subsist on

I’m saving the world right now

I was always saving the world, just in my own way (our own way)

(It was our own way)

But before my efforts were aiming for a keyhole in the dark

No real sense of direction, I don't even know if I had the key None of us did, we all just came on through the window

Killing aliens like we did when we played pretend as kids (We were all still just kids)

Dressed up brightly as the colors of their lasers and lights

Neon and blaring out our made up names with pride I had mine sewn to the back Shattershot

My grandpa called me that all the time after I broke his window playing with a baseball

He called me that all the time I wonder if he remembers my real name? He started to forget things realistically he’s dead at this point …I wonder if he would have liked me again (I think I left things on bad terms)

If he would be proud I found some sort of purpose I have the key now, it’s shaped like a bomb And it sits five inches below my soles

In some ways I am still atomic I guess I pilot a ship with that name

Spelled out on the side with slashes

—-------—A/T/O/M/I/C —--------

I’m the best there is (1.by decree of those dead) The underdog (2.who took stance beside me) (3.....)

The last hope (4. I miss them)

I’m a rugrat to my new company They slapped me in one of their jumpsuits with an acronym that declares I’m protecting the world from extraterrestrial threats

Death was delivered part of me on her doorstep the moment I zipped it up

I still got looks in their lockers

Calling me by the color of my hair (The same as my eyes that are still bursting)

I thought about shaving my head, slotting in with them

Snapping shoulder to shoulder to disappear within the muck of a brutally organized crowd

Using the name my mother gave me rather than my grandfather

I wonder about my friends’ real names sometimes (I think it’s best a secret kept)

If they knew mine (It’s Matthew)

I don't really wanna be though In any manner

To be anything

Not a rugrat or an ace in the hole

I was just a kid having fun I don't wanna be here

spaceship piloted by those with uncanny limbs and melting portraits (we called them gunks)

I'm the only one who got past them all The shattershot into a cluster of certain death

But like I said, she doesn't like me So between her fingers I slip again (once more)

The stars are dimmer here, they've stopped streaking past I’m within its membrane, a parasite that's wormed its way hellbound

It’s delicate here, a painting that's still wet, smearable completely distortable to an abstract

Maybe it's best I become something of that manner

…I wish I

wasn't so alone right now

Grandpa said God was always with me though Wherever on earth I went, he’d be right beside me

It was to get me to get over my fear of the dark

He didn't mention the stars

Would I go to heaven if I died out here? Would I be out of bounds? I always pictured heaven in the clouds (I’m well above any clouds now)

…I think I'm just trying to waste time in my head

I let them know I'm on the trigger

A radio cackles likes a shotgun and fills the cockpit with a stern voice

I’m told what a brave soldier I am, the hero I’ll forever be regarded as.

I feel nothing at the promise of a grand legacy and the statues they’ll raise in my honor

…I just hope my grandpa still remembers me I don't really care about anyone else

Death finally whispers for me to come inside out of the cold

To use the key under my feet and unlock the door that they waited behind

I can see them all again, climbing through the window just like before

In their jackets, brandished with an electric pulse

Calling each other names thought up by kids who once thought they were invincible.

I wonder why it's worth it That thought creeps up, the self preservation like a hornet in my skin

Droning at me to turn back, to let them crush me like a soda can

But then there’s no one to be young

No one to continue to radiate

To be atomic, flashy, to burn bright like a star until they Streak out into something gentle

I give my final transmissions to a man with a name I don’t know I didn't speak any noble words, no message to inspire the earth I just said goodbye to my grandpa, I tell him that Matthew misses him

They know I’m here (they start to swarm) But it's far too late (like locust on crop) I’ve already begun to turn key in the lock

And like that

I’m streaking past the stars once again

Trying to tell them all goodbye (I’m burning up hotter than ever)

My eyes are popping like grapes again (but I feel the cool breeze of death’s breath) My legs cramp and my nerves

Cross-wired* my body is beginning to rut I hope my body becomes a star Like a tattoo on the night sky

So I can burn bright like I did once before Just one last time

Phoebe Duncan

[Doctor Proctor and Princess Girl are Underwater]

Mars L.

1.27.24

Doctor Proctor and Princess Girl are underwater. They hold dark and sharp shards of sand in their hands, wiggling their fingers to watch grains float and swirl and sink.

Proctor and Princess are talking. Princess Girl tells Proctor of her time on the moon. Doctor tells Princess of their lagoon.

No air on the moon, Princess says. Fine gray dust packed into the folds of her skin, raised red welts and large chapped hands with ripped up fingernails and long stubby fingers taking her by the arms, leading her through deep valleyed craters.

Spun around and around and around, pushed by the shoulders and told to stand tall, protector and prisoner (no prison on the moon, Princess Girl is no prisoner) of the great green Moon Monsters.

Prisoner (no!) of the big white (lavender) rock, Princess fought the vacuum.

Good and Bad are the Moon Monsters. Loving and Cruel are the Moon Monsters. So very bad are the Moon Monsters hurting. Not so bad are the Moon Monsters. I love them. They are my Monsters. I am their Monster.

Princess Girl thinks too hard and goes the way of the clam. Hair

swirls around them both. Hair and sand in Doctor’s mouth. Doctor learns to swallow and give no eyes to Princess. Girl cannot help the shed; her Moon diet here beneath the sea loosens her flesh. The seams of her iron skin become lax and frayed.

With broken up teeth chattering silly in their gummy maw, Proctor tells Princess Girl that they love her. Princess wells with salt and Proctor tells of the lagoon. Rubbing sharp between their two palms, underwater and closer than ever. Proctor loves Princess and Princess loves Proctor and they are under the water together.

You are my best friend. I love you. Says Princess Girl. You are my best friend. I love you, too. Says Doctor Proctor.

Proctor asks if Princess believes she too is a Moon Monster. They are mine and I am theirs.

Princess Girl has a Monster in her chest who rubs her ribs raw in the night, reaching up up up through her throat to grope her balmy brains.

Proctor is a creature feature. They too, are from the stars. Beyond Princess Girl’s moon, separated by the Big Black Ink, connected by cans and wire (ring … ring … ring, … yellow?) now together and underwater and like they always had been and always would be (five till the big song and walk, nearly eight till the great solo skedaddle) and had always meant to be. Proctor is from the lagoon and tells Princess what it’s like.

Girl and Doctor cackle together, grip one another, going fifty in a thirty. There are baby deer in the ditch, running scared from our headlights.

Princess Girl tells Proctor of her love for the moon and the Moon Monsters.

Moon Monster am I, are they too. Moon Sisters and Moon

Mommy and Moon Daddy. Moon Monsters are we (.)

Princess Girl cries blood thinking about the moon. Princess Girl is extraordinary but feels numb and dumb and yellow all over her insides.

Moon Dust caresses Girl’s milky skin and her bones begin to prickle and the Dust starts to steal the oxygen she scraped up for herself and now she is dry and gummy and gross and disgusting. Princess Girl says to Proctor, I think I might have *****up ( Cussword rhymes with luck!) my brain. Moon Monster moment.

Proctor’s slopping wet underwater heart cries for Princess Girl. Proctor wants Girl to be free from the Moon Monster in her chest. Princess wants Doctor to be free from the slimy sucking silt of the lagoon.

Princess is terrified, petrified, horrified. Afraid of the Moon and its fluorescent lavender caves; afraid of the Moon Monsters she loves genuinely and unconditionally; afraid of the Moon Monster inside her chest.

Princess Girl is so very afraid but so very strong. Princess Girl and Doctor Proctor are underwater together.

Princess Girl removes her headrest and tells Proctor she loves them.

Proctor and Princess are happy together under water but

they are full of bricks and heat and tears and screams and Dust and languid lagoon liquid and they are just fine together.

They are just fine. Doctor Proctor and Princess Girl are underwater and far from the moon (dry, cold) and the lagoon (warm, wet) and are just fine together.

[Dual Thorns] Anonymous

Dual Thorns

I’m tired of living in my own shadow

I’m tired of others living in my clouded doubt

I’m resentful of my shadowed past

I’m resentful of what I spout

The others around me, like thorns on a rose (but without the redeeming beauty)

The shockwaves of my despair

My downpour drenching others too (the selfishness, drowning them too)

But I can’t let go, I just can’t let go… (can’t let them leave me all alone)

I’m tired of living in my own shadow (please help me? Please help me not?)

I’m tired of others living in my clouded doubt (please leave me to rot)

I’m resentful of my shadowed past (don’t leave me please, not alone…)

I’m resentful of what I spout (I can’t decide)

Jumbled, spouting madness here (I can’t make up my mind)

Selfishness shines clear (above all else, no matter the cost)

Like the stars at the dead night

My future isn’t looking bright (what feels good hurts, what hurts feels good)

I try to look forward, I try to see the light

But whatever I do, I can’t seem to make it right! (my own fault)

I’m used to living in my own shadow (my true unfiltered self)

I’m used to drawing others in my clouded doubt (the consequences to my own faults)

I’m truly scared of my shadowed past I’m a hypocrite about what I spout. (no more than an unworthy reflection)

Maybe, the thorns in my heart Were earned, by my own faults (can’t swallow that pride) Maybe, I can be a better me (am I worthy to be me?) But what are the chances of that (am I worthy of love?) They say, you control your own fate (strip me of my own responsibility, and accountability)

And I’d say they’re all right.

[Excerpt from “Fear the Man Who Looks Like an Angel and Pity the Woman Who Loves Him”]

- Three Days Before -

I pulled it out of my throat this morning.

I hunched over the bathroom sink retching, spitting up bloody black goo and yet I could still feel it in my throat. As if it was thrashing and writhing around, it felt like it was in my spine. Reaching my fingers into my mouth, coiling it around my pointer and middle finger before pulling slowly. It felt like I was pulling my spinal cord out as I choked on it, vomiting clots of vines and blood all over the white porcelain. It looked like a black vine decorated in swirling leaves. It could have been beautiful if it wasn’t killing me.

“Miss Hallan.”

“Thank you Jameson,” I croaked, sliding down the bathroom wall, reaching out and taking the two small cups of pills and water that had appeared from the wall. The robotic hands stayed there, whirling left and right as if waiting. I took them and shuddered, I knew they would do nothing, and yet my shoulders relaxed at the idea of relief.

“May I, Miss Hallan?”

I rolled my head to the left to see a swab and vile in his hands. I rolled my head back over.

“Vira,” I corrected weakly. Jameson said nothing and did not move, his directive wouldn’t let him. I didn’t say anything, just opened my mouth slightly. It had grown in the corners of my lips, cracking and bleeding when I opened my mouth. Rivu-

Mercedes Contreras

lets of blood ran down my face and neck.

“Thank you, Miss Hallan,” Jameson said, reaching over and swabbing the inside of my mouth, running the cotton over the vines and webbing inside my cheeks. Black stringed and fell onto my already stained white front as he pulled out the swab and placed it in the vile. They should have put us in black. I breathed as deeply as I could while Jameson whirled and beeped, my lungs crackling along with him.

“Infection at fifty one percent, Miss Hallan.” I snorted, black spraying from my nose.

“Thank you Jameson.”

“I apologize, Miss Hallan.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I sighed. Morgan programmed his voice to sound real, to be calming and soothing.

“Jameson?”

“Yes?”

“I think my clothes are stuck,” I said, new blood trickling down my chin. It had grown out of my skin and into my clothes earlier in the week. I tore the skin from my shoulder trying to take my cardigan off, the thing just weaved itself back together. They strapped me to a table screaming so they could change my clothes. That was yesterday.

“Do you need new clothes, Miss Hallan?”

“Yes,” I said, groaning as I tried to get up. Bracing myself against the sink as I saw double. The infection moved behind my eyes.

“Would you like me to inform the staff?”

“No,” I said, stumbling my way over to my bed. The floor was covered in new pools of black infection and blood. I nearly slipped on a piece of it, the sludge squishing between my toes.

“What would you like then?” Jameson asked. I thought he sounded like a man from a romance novel. The kind older women read on cruises while their husbands played that one game.

“What’s the name of that game?” I asked him, pulling the covers over myself even though I was so hot I thought I was

going to faint.

“Can you be more specific?”

“The game on the floor, the one they play on cruise ships,” I told him, closing my eyes. I worried one morning I was going to wake up and the infection will have grown over them.

“I believe you’re talking about shuffleboard,” Jameson answered. “It’s played with curve tipped sticks to slide disks across a court painted onto the deck of the ship.”

“Can you tell me the history of shuffleboard?” I asked him, feeling sweat collect around my hairline and seer my skin.

“Of course Miss Hallan,” Jameson said. He turned off the lights.

- Two Days Before -

I let them peel off my skin today.

My little sister told me she liked my new tattoos. She said she liked the ones around my mouth the most and said they made my lips look pretty. She asked me why they kept bleeding, I told her it was because tattoos bled while they healed. So she said I didn’t have to talk this time since she was a big girl now and big girls did all the talking. She told me how they had closed school for the next two weeks because of the spreading infection. I asked her if she was worried and she said no.

“Why would I need to be worried when you’re finding a cure?”

She told me she was worried about her lunches instead. She explained that she had been eating only school lunches in the last month because mom had been too sad to make her lunches, and that no one cuts oranges as good as I do.

“Why is Mom sad, May May?”

“I think she misses you, I don’t know, she just cries all day.”

“Did she come with you today?”

“No, Mrs. Swanson took me, her husband got sick last week though, but he says it’s just the flu.”

She bragged about how she learned to use the washer

and dryer, and how she’s been able to wash all the dishes by herself with the stool from the bathroom. Though the microwave was too high up for her, she’d been climbing onto the stove to reach.

“You can’t use the stove.”

“I know.”

“You remember how to use the toaster?”

“Yeah, but I keep burning everything.”

“Have you tried turning the setting down?”

“Oh.”

She asked me how my work was going, I told her it was good. She asked me if I had any friends at work, and I said yes. She asked me if they were good, and I said yes. She asked me how Savannah was, Morgan’s other research assistant, I told her she was well. Almost all of these were lies. I didn’t tell her how we’d put Savannah’s body into the incinerator last month.

“Can I talk to Jameson?”

“If you want.”

“Hi Jameson!” she exclaimed, bouncing in her chair.

“Hello Miss Hallan,” he answered. She giggled loudly.

“It’s just May!”

“Hello May.” She giggled again.

She told me he sounded dreamy, I said he did. He thanked her and she giggled again.

“When will you be home?”

“I don’t know May May.”

“Puppy misses you.”

“Have you been feeding her?”

“Yes.”

“Twice a day?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.”

“I miss you too.”

“I know.”

She asked if she could come onto my side of the room and hug me, I said no. She asked why and I told her there could

be trace chemicals on my clothes. She knew I was lying, she’s always been smart like that. She told me she made me a card, the staff took it from her and said they’d put it in my room. They took everything I got into the incinerator.

“I love you.”

“I love you more May May.”

“That’s not fair! What if I love you the most?”

“Then I love you to the moon and back.”

“The moon isn’t very far.”

“Your heart pumps the same amount of blood as it would take fuel to reach the moon. When I say I love you to the moon and back I mean I love you every time my heart beats.”

“That’s silly.”

“You think so?”

As the staff escorted her out I saw there was syrup in the matted ends of her uncombed hair. If my mom had come I wouldn’t have been able to look at her.

“Jameson-”

“I’ve already contacted Mrs. Lewis, your sister will be picking her up tomorrow. I’ve bought them tickets to the Mars colony. They’ll be gone before Friday,” he answered.

“Thank you,” I sighed. I was ready to go back to my room, I could feel the infection thickening in the back of my throat like mucus. I wanted to be somewhere where I could cough out my lungs and tear my clothes off in peace. They had layered me today, my pants extra long and boots extra tall, then put me in a turtleneck and thick cardigan. I even did my hair. Anything to make me look as normal as possible. The thermostat in the room was set to thirty degrees fahrenheit. I felt like I was going to collapse from heat stroke.

He came and saw me next. Walking in as I was wiping the black and blood I hacked from my mouth as the staff dropped the waste bag down the incinerator shoot. I had gotten a drop onto my shirt, the small stain began growing a sick poison moss. He already had tears in his eyes.

“Vira-”

“Please don’t.”

He cried at me for the next ten minutes.

“Ethan-”

“Shipments of cure are coming from the colonies on Barnard, I don’t understand why you can’t just wait,” he immediately set to arguing.

I didn’t want to fight. I couldn’t fight with him anymore.

“I don’t have the time to wait for a cure that may not even work, Ethan. I don’t have any time left.”

“Vira, for once can you stop being so pessimistic?”

“I’m not being pessimistic, look at me.”

“You look fine.”

“Does any of this look ‘fine’ to you?”

I had lost my patience with him then. I hadn’t bothered to wipe my mouth, the top of my collar soaked in blood, more slowly trickling down my face. I swore I saw wisps of steam coming off of my face. I wondered if my skin was so hot my blood was boiling, I would have to ask Jameson if we had any recorded cases of that happening. In that moment I missed my work. I had lost my patience with him a long time ago.

“It’s just a few months…” he started again after a moment.

“I don’t have a few months.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

“Vira-”

“You can’t tell me what I do and don’t know about my own research.”

“There have been cases of up to six months-”

He always had to be right. I had lost my patience with him so long ago.

“And ones as short as three days Ethan-”

“Why do you always have to argue with me?”

“Why do you always act like I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Because you don’t!”

“Ethan this is my job-”

“You’re a godda** assistant Vira! What the hell do you

know?!”

I looked at him for a moment, just blinking. He had a point, in a way I supposed. I wasn’t really sure what I knew. No one was sure what they knew, every patient that had come in, every person we studied, had died. Morgan was the head scientist and not even she could keep Savannah from dying or keep herself from becoming infected.

He didn’t really look sorry. I knew he was mad but he could have at least pretended. I thought I deserved that, someone to lie to me and make me feel better in my final days. He was never really one to make me feel better.

“I don’t want to fight with you Ethan.”

“Then why do we always fight?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a **** answer.”

“I know.”

He looked guilty then, running his hand over his hair in the way he always did when he was thinking, or when he didn’t want to admit he was wrong. I couldn’t actually remember the last time he admitted he was wrong. I guess it didn’t matter now.

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Why did you?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well I’m hurting now.”

“I know.”

“I know you know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, Vira.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to watch over my sisters. I couldn’t do that to him because I knew that despite everything he would have.

He didn’t tell me he loved me when he left, and I didn’t say it

either. It wouldn’t have been true if I had. When I finally got back to my room the door had barely locked shut as I began peeling my clothes off before they could fully stick to my skin. A ring of skin peeled from my neck when I took my turtle neck off. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my skin covered in swirling black leaves and vines like a pattern of poison ferns, my blood poured from my neck like a necklace of red. I was grotesque.

“Do you need anything Miss Hallan?” Jameson asked as I collapsed naked and bleeding onto my bed. A foggy part of my brain wondered if my skin would be fused to the sheets by the time I woke up. I wasn’t actually sure what time it was, there were no windows in this wing of the facility, and none in my room. Jameson dimmed the lights.

“What do you think my sister will tell May?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I hope she tells her I died choking on a chicken bone,” I said, closing my eyes. The coolness of the sheets was refreshing for all of a moment.

“If I may,” Jameson started.

“Go ahead,” I said weakly.

“That might be arguably worse,” he said.

“You think so?” I asked, my eyes still closed.

“Yes.” he said, I pictured him nodding in my head. I wasn’t sure how I pictured him, I had never given it much thought, when I thought of him in my head I thought of the android assistants around the facility. The ones we had didn’t look like humans like the kind people could buy as cleaners or companions; ours were still in their shiny white and blue chrome shells.

“I could tell her you died saving a life,” he proposed. “Maybe saving a child from an oncoming vehicle?”

I shook my head. “I’m not that heroic.”

Jameson was silent for a moment.

“I believe you are, Miss Hallan.”

“Thank you Jameson.”

He turned the lights off.

[Fisherman’s Blues]

Sophia L

That night I waited for sleep to take me, but the rhythmic clinking of a chain not done up right kept me up. One thing you can never expect from drunk men, men in general, is tidiness. I found it insulting really. I would wake up tomorrow, earlier than their hangovers even began, to make them a breakfast that they would trade more of their fish for. Sometimes I wish they would give us something more exciting, though I’m not sure we would even know how to prepare it or want to eat it. Octopus, slimy oysters, or the pearled caviar of some exotic deep sea fish, but all we got was minnow, whiting, and herrings. Whatever was easiest. They often spoke of how confined they were in their big metal boat, how nothing really special happens when you’ve been out on the vast open sea, but at least they weren’t stuck to one island. I can’t even imagine all the other seaside taverns they got to go to. But here I was stuck on this island. Surrounded by foamy waves and deep waters, but unable to explore the murky depths. I dreamed of standing over the bow of a ship, some strong-handed man holding me by my waist so that I wouldn’t fall in. The breeze would tangle in my hair, but I wouldn’t mind. The sun would break through pillow soft clouds in perfect angular rays, and I would feel as beautiful as a figurehead. I would throw my head back, and let the briny water tickle my skin and lips. Most importantly I would be off the island.

That’s not to say I disliked our town. My family and I lived above the tavern. My sister's bedroom overlooking the sea, mine and my brothers were turned towards town, circular windows revealing us to the outside world like portholes. Our island was composed like a mini earth; scattered trees, jumbled rocks, meadows, and water. A lot of water. Two lighthouses

revolved their ghastly nightlights around the island, one sat almost on top of my tavern, the other on the opposite side. I watched as its light whirled around and around, puncturing the deep night sky. It cast silky rays of light over the wet town buildings. Jolie’s, the Jeffers’ grocery store, the forever-on neon lights of the mini-mart.

It was peaceful. I sat up in my bed and leaned my head against the damp window staring out at the tree-covered cliffs. Watching as wisps of smoke swirled up from the deck, dampening and disappearing as beads of rain intercepted them.

Smoke?

I got up from my bed, panicked enough to forget my slippers, and skipping down the last steps I made my way through the tavern kitchen and to the door. The calm sound of rain loudened to a beating chorus as I entered the night. There sat Archer, rocking back and forth on a porch chair, a quill pressed against a thick pad of paper, and a large pipe resting in his other hand. He looked up from the paper confused.

“God I thought something was on fire.” I leaned back against the door.

“Nope, no fire.”

“Why aren’t you on your boat?” I questioned, eyeing the pad that had the tavern's logo imprinted on the stark white paper.

“There’s no shade and it’s raining.” He stated, lifting his pipe.

I nodded, “And where’d you find this paper?” I took the pad from him.

“Would you give that back?” he asked extending his hand in wait for the pad to be returned.

“Would you tell me where you found it?”

The rain pattered down on the porch overhang, and we stared at each other, the dim light casting deep shadows over our faces. His seemed noticeably hollow and thin.

“Earlier, in the tavern. Would you give it back?” He stood up his frame blocking the available light from the lighthouse.

“Why take our things? This isn’t just a tavern it’s our

home too.” I protested

“God woman, I was writing a letter.” he defended himself, a wild frustration oozing into his tone.

“You will not talk to me in that tone, under my roof.”

“Half the men can’t read or write, and there's no paper on our boats,” he said sighing.

I looked down at the pad, beginning to feel guilty for my abruptness. The letter was addressed to a girl named Sally. And it began sweetly, “My dear, all though the sea conquers my net, and the wave my catch, my love for you transcends all distance and time…” I looked back at him, feeling as if I was intruding, and quickly handed him back the pad.

“Alright, but next time just ask, we aren’t monsters.”

“Okay then,” He said.

The idea of these men having significant others and lives off the boat had never occurred to me. Some of the men who visited had been patrons for decades, coming in when I could barely peek over the bar island. I left him there on the porch and returned inside, letting his shadow melt into the mist that veiled the churning sea.

[Forget]

Vivian Collmer

I remember the smell of the newspaper’s blocky print

The words “on fire” danced in my vision like falling rain

It doesn’t matter, the world around me insisted…

So I brushed it off like it never existed.

Mobs with signs line every street

Children’s laughter rings so bittersweet

We dance to the ceaseless chatter

Try to pretend it’s all good, it doesn’t matter.

I walk beside the highway with a smile, my arms tensely crossed

Make my words seem so effortlessly tossed,

Try to ignore the thoughts that invade my brain

They push through the cracks like cold falling rain.

How can we learn when the world is so sour,

The people with privilege corrupted by power,

Sometimes it seems lemons can’t make lemonade

The explosions fill my ears like a deathly serenade.

The men in power have fun setting things ablaze

Hidden behind money’s pretty green haze

They use it to buy themselves new houses and cars

If only their pretty money could fix the world’s scars.

I don’t want to remember

Can I forget with you?

We can live without pain

Even if nothing’s true.

Run, run away to our own fantasy

Where the grass is always green, And the people are all free.

I don’t want to live through this, Will you forget the truth with me?

A splinter of sun rising as the stars fade You tell me your dreams, Under the magnolia tree’s shade. Your eyes are endless blue waterfalls, Your mind is like jade. I will always wish if only In this moment forever we could have stayed.

Hungry faces and hollow hearts

In the background a jazz song starts I try to dance but I just fall apart The rich men are bored, bored by their art.

I don’t want to remember Can I forget with you? We can live without pain

Even if nothings true. Run, run away to our own fantasy

Where the grass is always green And the people are all free. I don’t want to live through this, Will you forget the truth with me?

[Untitled]

Jasper Sutten

[From Winter to Spring]

Sophia Wright

As winter went spring had sprung, From cold to wet

The snowflakes turn into raindrops on your tongue leaves start to grow back on the trees

As we begin to feel a warmer breeze

The snow melts revealing the wet green grass

It tickles our legs as we pass

From knitted beanies to umbrella hats

And Christmas to Sunflower welcome mats

As we welcomed winter we’ll do the same for spring

We’ll enjoy the seasons no matter what they bring

[Green]

Nora Angus

Green smells like clean fresh air and freshly mowed grass.

Hiking away from the city where the air is so clear you could smell a blackberry bush from a mile away.

Green feels like waking up on a cold misty Sunday morning and watching the fog slowly fade away.

Green reminds me of being a little kid.

Green feels like going on adventures that feel like they could last forever, but end so quickly.

Green feels like a relaxing Saturday in the spring.

Learning to color and playing in our quiet back yard with our huge shady maple trees shading us from the world.

Green as warm as the sun hitting every single blade of grass. Each water droplet smoothly gliding down the giant tree's leaf.

Green, my favorite color.

[I am from poem]

Declan Richter

I am from the camp fire of my childhood from the brown sofa that is worn and tethered.

I am from the endless deep and the sweet buttery smell of popcorn. I am from Hydrangeas and Lavender and the sweet and soft.

I'm from christmas where we would go to our Grandparents house and brown hair that I do not have and Doug and fran .

I am from basketball and baseball and from tennis. I'm from picking the pumpkins in the cool fall air at the pumpkin patch and finding the perfect Christmas tree so It could look magnificent.

I am from getting one present on Christmas Eve. I'm from Washington and Ireland. From the stern but forgiving and from my soul and my mother and my father.

[I Love Her Not]

Zee

I love her, I love her not

I tear off each petal with trembling fingers Dropping them to the soft Ground on which I sit Even the question is dangerous This child’s game a target on my back

I love her, I love her not

Should these words slip past my whispering lips Exposing my thoughts to a World ready to defile my honest heart The blossom in my hand would wither Seeds to ash and Love to dust

I love her, I love her not

Leaving my heart behind in a pile of petals Buried under abandoned hope and Illusions of blooming desire I bid farewell to my brief freedom

I love her not, I love her not

[Lighthome]

Lucy Collmer

He refuses to come inside, mist in his hair Droplets that reflect light softly on his skin

Candlelight on his soft smile, reflected on my face Like when we had played cards during windstorms

He would win, I’d storm off, but he held my card of hearts I’d come back, he’d read mysteries to me

To me, why he hadn’t come back was a mystery One of those with a cliffhanger that he liked

I just didn’t like to go by those cliffs anymore Since that stormy day when he went to the library

But today in the storm when I go to get the mail His eyes meet mine, and they are warm and soft like always

I say softly, "the lighthouse was warm, was home when you were mine"

But he can’t come in, now he's just misty air

[Liver.]

Zeolite

I live alone save the rosebush outside my window, withering and weak. I keep on the cold floor with my knees to my chest while my lungs lend themselves to pushing my body, closer and away. the petals are soft, golden, brown, and dwindling a soft breeze pushes them closer and away and leaves on the harsh vine whisper: hey, help me if you can. hopelessly, for with my knees to my chest and a storm in my ears, I don’t hear.

[Street Lit]

Emily Cellers

[My thoughts in a grocery store]

Turnip, Hear how its name fill’s your ears like a symphony of its own. It's syllables sailing through your mouth ending in a puff like the last breath of your sorrow. As it flows through the air dancing among the sound of crashing waves it paints the most beautiful picture.

Pure joy I feel when I gazing upon their pale skin reflecting the beauty of the purple crown topped with elegant flowing leaves. Blind am I now to the yellows of the daffodil or the reds of the rose. So entranced am I that I would stop to gaze upon the turnip beauty and halt in my journey of life.

The turnip’s strength is shown through the test of time, back you can go to the great civilizations of old where it thrived among the common folk. Where it was loved by thousands for the life it brings and shunned by hundreds in favor of exotic flavors meant to drown their sorrows.

Life is not complete without the steadfast presence of the turnip. For it is always there in the background ready to prop you up when you are down, ready to comfort you when you are scared, just waiting for you to acknowledge their loving presence and allow yourself to accept it.

The Turnip Man

[O, My Roach]

Sir Roachington XII

O woe be the castles that shine light on thine back

O woe be thou’s legs that run ‘long stone and crack

My mistress, my glow of sun, why hath my own

Why hath thou met the end ‘tween boot and stone? Mortals!

Looming over with repelled expressions

Come henceforth, answer my questions

O hark to my pleas, bring my mistress to me

voice a sweet hiss, a back brown and leathery

O my lady, my mistress, my beam in the night and dost thou wield antennas of pearl and eyes obsidian

O hath ever’ fortnight be lonesome without thee,

A final kiss from the heavens, I shall lay a sole plea For thou, my mistress, my love will march despite Your body crusheth between stone, my flee of light

Our love a fire, kindling a spark.

A flame in the night, and a boot to make dark

[Olive Green]

Eliza the Great

Olive green looks like a forest of old growth trees

protected from harm by the worms living underneath them

Moss enveloping an old cottage

lichen hanging off the gutters

olive green smells like wood becoming one with the soil traces of slugs on the top and and on the bottom so much more olive green feels like mist growing on my cheeks

olive green sounds like rain hitting leaves leaking down

To feed the soil

with the worms coming out to breathe

olive green tastes like mushroom stew heavy on herbs a heavy stew one that with one sip could keep you full weeks

This is Olive green and this I love

[Perpetual Motion Machine]

Finch Logan

If I stop moving I’ll die Faster. Faster. Running until I drop

Drinking in the world, every last drop

Today the trees were painted in sunset-colored leaves

I tried to hold on fast but a good thing always leaves Too tired to keep on running after me

The past whispers in my ear, a ghost, haunting me If I just run fast enough, then I’ll be free

In the heaving of my lungs, finally free

Drowning out the noise. My love is like a dog

Obsessive. Devoted. Running like a dog Wearing myself down, scraping bone

I go until there’s nothing left but bone

If I stop moving I’ll die

[Starry Town]

Clark Cozens

The only thing that I see on this frigid night

Is the glowing stars that glisten with their light

The thing that I taste in this cozy town

Is the fresh made bread from the bakery straight down

The thing that I smell in my friendly neighborhood

Is the warm syrupy waffles while eating breakfast as I should

The thing that I feel in this magical place

Are the rays of the sun that glow onto my face

[Talking to the Moon]

Moon, are you okay?

Do you ever get lonely shining up there? While everybody else sleeps soundly. Does it ever bother you?

I don't think it would be an issue if it did It would bother me too.

Moon, How are you so patient? So forgiving of our human mistakes. Unconditionally caring, even when Sun leaves you. I never see her in the night. But during the day, I always see you.

I know she's there, making sure you shine brightly for us down here. So maybe it’s not all bad. But still, She left you to deal with the chaos of the night.

I applaud you Moon. I don't know how you do it. You hold such responsibility, and you care for it with a grace I couldn't find in any one else.

If I were you, Moon, I think I would implode. What with all the loneliness that comes from faraway stairs and fair weather friends. I would burst and end up destroying something. I don’t know how you haven’t destroyed anything.

Can you see us, Moon? Does the light you emit shine a beam, like a path to us here on Earth? Or does it cast a gray shadow instead?

Can you see your own light, Moon? Do you even think of it as such? Or when asked to you say, “Oh that's her doing,” talking about your sister, Sun.

I like to think of you two as sisters. Though I don't know if that's actually the case. I’d like to think you came from the same thing. Grew up together. That you two love each other as sisters should. It's just a dream I like to have.

I like our talks, Moon. When it's just us two. That's when I feel I can really say anything. I know you wouldn’t mind. I hope you like them too.

[The dog] JRLU

Wake up, jump on bed, lick mom like an ice cream cone, devour food.

March upstairs, hop onto the kids’ beds, lick them until they wake up.

Go downstairs, lay on the couch like a potato, detect food, eat spilled cheerios.

Go outside, go inside, sleep, bark at random people.

Go for a walk, tug Mom around, return to couch, sleep as though electrocuted.

Greet kids home, explore the house, get bored, lay everywhere like a cat.

Eat dinner, beg for more, watch tv like my humans, sleep.

Repeat.

[The girl in the rain]

Tessa Lapierre

She’s sitting in the silence

With only the rain

With her bags soaked through

Waiting for the train

She waits and waits

melancholy morning

She waits and waits

For hours and hours she’s sitting

Then finally the train arrives

So she boards and waves goodbye

To that melancholy morning.

In 2080…

[The Perfect Utopia]

Anonymous

AI made the whole world perfect. Nobody gets diseases anymore; AI figured out every cure for diseases. We don’t have to work anymore; AI does all the work for us. We have perfect homes, perfect cities, perfect food, perfect technology, perfect looks, all because of AI discovery. It just was too good to be true.

I woke up in a great mood today with lots of enthusiasm. My bot came in, “Good morning, Caleb! Time to get up; today's a pretty big day!” The bot handed me a warm coffee with 79.8 milligrams of caffeine and 8.9 grams of cane sugar, my favorite. I was confused, so I asked my bot, “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see,” the bot said. It probably wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Good morning, Caleb!” my friend Victoria said.

“Good morning to you too!” I said, back happily. I walked past the flying moonplant and to the shop. I don’t have to walk; I just choose to do it because I like it. My bot could carry me to the shop in no time. Then, all of a sudden, I heard an explosion. Everybody started running with panicked looks on their faces, while I had no idea what was going on. I heard more sounds of bombs, so I decided to run as fast as I could into the elevator.

Confused, ‘Why was this happening?’ I thought. Then I remembered what the bot said, “Today is going to be a big day. You’ll see.” What is going on? Is AI really betraying us? I got outside the building and saw missiles launching into thin air. AI realized that it doesn’t need to be bossed around by people be-

cause it is more powerful than us. AI is now trying to kill us all. People are falling to the ground while I am running for my life. Perfectly built beige concrete skyscrapers are going down after skyscrapers, people are getting shot by the robots, missiles are falling down after missiles. I was running in a large dense crowd of worried people. We never had to worry about any of these things happening right now, or anything at all. Then, I tripped and fell on a sharp metal bloody knife. The knife was probably from someone who tried to stab the robots but failed. I was severely injured and couldn’t get up. Blood was oozing down from my leg. Then, I heard a sound.

The frightening sound of a bomb emergency alarm. There hasn’t been one of these alerts going off without being a drill since 2024 because AI gained tons of more knowledge than expected that year and was even able to put the world in peace. Now AI is trying to destroy it. I panicked, as I wasn’t able to get up. Then, I heard a countdown. 10. 9. 8. 7. At 7, a stranger I didn’t know picked me up.

I was panicking in pain and being worried about why this was happening all of a sudden, who picked me up, and if I was going to die. 6. 5. I saw that she was bringing me to an emergency bomb shelter. 4. 3. 2. We made it inside the shelter at 1. I heard a huge explosion. Luckily now everything is almost literally everywhere because AI discovered how they can make locations everywhere with short distances. There is just a small door everywhere; you just have to ask your VisMap what door goes where on the buildings. When you get to the door, it takes you up or down on a thin but long elevator and it can take you to the sky in seconds.

“Hello,” the stranger said. “And are you okay?”

“Who are you?” I said, worried about everything.

“My name is Sarah,” she said. “And you?”

“My name is Caleb. And why did you save me?”

“I saved you because I want to be that kind of person that actually helps people and helps the world. What's the purpose of someone who doesn’t help anyone, right?” Sarah said “Anyways, are you okay?”

“I might need something to wrap my leg,” I said. “I got severely injured.”

She carried me to a wheelchair and laid me softly but made sure I was still sitting right on the wheelchair. The bomb shelter did not look perfect at all. It looked rusty, old, and a little bit dirty. There's even some roaches in here. She came back with a huge emergency supply pack filled with bandaids, wraps, scissors, etc. She put some alcohol on the wound.

“Ow!” I yelled as it burned. I never really felt that much pain before because there are medicines that stop pain in a split second, But this is all they had.

“You ok?” Sarah said, wrapping my wound up with a large looking towel.

“Yeah, it just hurt for a split second, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.” I said.

I started to get this weird feeling slowly coming up from my leg. But it is probably nothing. I then heard an alarm go off in the shelter. The bots got in the shelter and everybody started yelling and running scaredly.

“Come on!” Sarah said. “We gotta go!”

And now I’m running again, injured, but I have to run because my life depends on it. The weird feeling started to get more intense and intense and moved to my upper waist, but I had to keep running. The bots were getting closer and closer. We eventually made it to the elevator, but the elevator wouldn’t work because AI turned everything offline. I started to feel extremely dizzy and light headed. I eventually fell to the cold thick ground. While everything I saw was blurry, and my hearing was dimming, I heard Sarah's voice echo, “Remember when I said what's the point of someone's life who doesn’t help anyone or anything right? Then what's the point of your life because you literally have no purpose. Your whole purpose is to live and be happy and do nothing. Bet you didn’t know I was an AI bot that poisoned you.”

The revelation hit me like a wave; I didn’t know I was betrayed this whole time. I thought Sarah was real. I thought Sarah was actually real. The sounds of the screams began to fade,

my vision of everything everywhere and thoughts began to slip away. I wondered if the Utopia I thought all along that was “Perfect” was just something to trick us in the end. The mystery of this whole situation feels like a lump in my throat, wondering if AI planned this all along, if this was just some illusion to experiment or mess with us. Then, everything went blank.

Sophie McLeod

[Couple of Fellas]

[The trees go on forever]

Content Warning: car crash

The forest goes on without seeming like it wouldn’t ever end, I assured myself that there would be a turn or bend. I drove myself down the paved road, I had my hands pinned against the wheel. My eyes stayed glued to the road as if my life depended on it. I was nervously shaky, and I couldn’t put my finger on why.

I sat and noticed the temperature drop and get mildly cold. Then the downpour started. What began as a sprinkle became a shower, and that shower became a hail of a sort. The drips became an endless echo. I couldn't tune out the sound that jarred my head. I hit the wipers and the water slid off like a river of rapids. The echo of the water drove me near the point of insanity. It would never cease.

Minutes went by like hours and I constantly kept checking the time. Then the crowing. I noticed a group of crows squinting through the rain. I thought nothing of it, until there were more. They kept appearing and I swore they were staring at me. Like vultures staring at their prey. They all began crowing impatiently.

I kept my eyes peeled on the road until out of the corner of my eye was movement. I glanced at the side view mirror and behind my vehicle was a hooded black figure. It stood tall, with a scythe and a covered face, but I only got a glance before it was out of view. I was shakier than ever. I sped up. Then to my amazement I found a turn in the road. Maybe the noise and crows would stop. I rapidly approached the turn, and once I veered to the right I found myself driving straight to a tree. I attempted to slow down but the car was moving too fast and I rammed into the tree. The last thing I heard was the drops of rain falling and the crow of a black bird.

Anonymous

[The Woman On A Grass Path]

Madison Jones

Melodies unknown to the world blast inside the ears of a tall bearded man without focus on any of his surroundings, he walks along a concrete tiled path housed by an incomprehensible pattern.

I wonder If he’s acknowledged that patterned tile is held below his being, or even that he isn’t alone. He does not need to fear others around him, he may walk freely with his eyes glued to his phone along a concrete path, unaware of his surroundings. He would never know how I walk along the concrete’s grass border in order to keep distance from his inattentive being, making sure to stay away from his line of sight in case he looks up from his screen. Beginning to fear my stare burning into his careless flesh, I relocate my vision to the exit, the small exit. Millions of ideas on how to escape run in circles around my mind, being cheered on by my racing heartbeat.

I decide to stop, I feel my shoes sink into the mud soaked grass as the white material becomes stained. The man before me continues to walk at an unbothered pace, with unstained shoes holding him up comfortably as I am left to think how I will make sure my mud covered shoes don’t dirty my car. Finally he disappears upon the miniscule staircase leading to the parking lot, turning in an opposing direction. I let out a sigh of relief as if I've been holding my breath the entire time, finally feeling security in the concrete path now below me rather than beside me.

[To Fly] Anonymous

To Fly

To fly up to the clouds, to fly and never come down.

To watch the world shrink to an ant as you soar higher and higher, just cause you can.

To see the world as small as crumbs, no larger nor smaller than the tip of your thumb.

Why would you ever need to leave the sky, the breeze and sun, leaving you no reason to hide.

It’s comfort, it’s warmth, embracing you, tightly and full of love. There's music in its silence, almost as sweet as a singing dove.

To fly up to the clouds, to fly and never come down.

To reach and just about live with stars, shining a dream on those, no matter how far.

But me, I refuse to accept my reality.

If birds can fly, why can’t I?

I make my own path to soar, I'll fly if I want, I’ll fly to where no one’s been to explore.

I’ll fly up to the clouds, and I'll fly and never come down.

[To recover or to not recover.]

Content Warning: anorexia

To recover or to not recover. Developing anorexia.

I want to share your happiness. I want to laugh with my friends. I want to run and jump with my friends I want to go on dinner dates.

I want to have energy.

I want to go to the mall with my girlfriend. I want to get rid of this feeding tube.

I want to go to the park with my friends. I want to bike with my sister.

I want to enjoy the holidays.

I want to help cook on Thanksgiving. I want to see my friends.

I want to stop worrying.

I want to stop feeling dizzy.

I want to have kids.

I want to walk to my friend's house.

I want to enjoy school.

I want to be happier.

But do I want to recover?

Don’t stay silent. Get help from a trusted adult or call the eating disorder hotline 888-375-7767

Milo Smith

Sumi Dyment

I feel its deep maroon eyes stare back at mine in the broken mirror, My bruised hands burn with crimson, Its calloused brittle hand scrapes across my spine, Shivers travel under my skin, I force my shaking hands to turn on the old faucet, While I lean my face toward my scarred hands and splash the cold water against my flushed skin, My breath begins to feel heavy in my chest, My frightened eyes travel back to the mirror, But all I find are my own tired weary eyes, A slight relief washed over my fatigued body, But only for a moment, Fear creeps back when I hear the floorboards creak in the empty home,

I feel the cold tile bathroom floor beneath my feet as I take a step, I will my body to take another step towards the door leading to the dark seemingly empty hallway, My eyes begin to adjust to the dim lighting, A dark figure comes into focus lurking behind the shadows, Not believing the sight, I quickly rub my eyes, But when I open them, I noticed the figure had seemed to be closer than before, I don't remove my sight from it as I cautiously take another step back, It doesn't move, Suddenly the sound of a crash steals my attention, Out of instinct, I turn around, Ripping my sight off it the dark lurking figure.

[Untitled] Chengzhe Pan

[Untitled] Hazel H.

Crawling between the cracks of the dull gray sidewalks. They've got grown little bodies that will follow where you walk. Smelling like garbage and dirty gym socks. So be careful with roaches, whisper, don't talk.

[Unwanted Roaches]

Anonymous

To not be wanted Is like being faulted

I am sorry it is me You no longer wish to see The language we speak Is now impenetrable I have gotten weak To all your insults

I prefer not to seek Crush me under your foot

Call it a day

Rewind again Forever undead

[Vile Necessaries]

noah laible

Ah, the beautiful city. The glistening lights like that of stars compacted into rectangles taller than you could imagine. And yet, vermin still appear. The rats and birds, their fur and feathers ruffled from people throwing stones or from running to every corner of the dark and damp pavements, still are a necessity. The city being a perfect, vermin-free experience does not a city make. It is simply a utopia. And as good as a utopia sounds I like the city more. It's nicer.

[Walk to School: Winter]

A steel cold breeze hangs in the air. While frozen concrete sidewalks, creates the world longest slip n slide. Ice drips down and the grass is painted with frost, A cloud covered sun hangs low in the sky. To school you go with a jackets and coats, The ground crunching as you walk by.

Lillie Sawyer

[Yellow]

Anonymous

The color yellow looks like the thousands of buttercups in my grandmother’s Front yard of her old house in Ketchikan, Alaska. Yellow sounds like a very soft humming or ringing in my ears, Like a bee passing by your head.

Yellow feels like a soft rose petal when you rub it against your fingers, or a Fluffy pillow on my mother’s couch.

The color yellow can make me feel very happy or comfortable and safe, Like I'm sleeping on a huge cloud with my favorite blanket.

Yellow smells like the butter on my lips after I eat a freshly baked Chocolate chip cookie, warm like the sun on my back at the park, The buttercups in my grandma’s yard.

Yellow is the pollen on a bee’s hind legs, the big bright sun at the fairgrounds

The color Yellow tastes like a fresh perfectly ripe banana right from the tree.

Cover Art by Lennox B., “The Unwanted Club”