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Freedom and Leaves
By Jennifer Weismantle Part I There’s a twisting leaf I notice, eyes fixed on the sky. Wishing to be free from its safe home on a branch. To journey through the sky to lead somewhere new, Impatient leaf, lighthearted wanderer. The twisting leaf’s shadow grows as it falls, A massive hawk’s shadow casts me in darkness. I know what it’s here to do, Stalking my wanderer, a calculated killer. Part II Like the twisting leaf, my ducky likes to wander. Rushing to the gate of her protective enclosure. Disrupted from the days when she could frolic free, There’s more in the sky today than just leaves. From a twisting leaf…
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Canton
By Leah Dietle In the cold of early April, when the frost still clings to grass like enamored lovers, and winter’s last icy breath clings to spring’s dew- that’s when I was brought home. My hometown: a modest white house with wood in the back, serving as the backdrop of my escapist fantasies. Running feet crunching sticks and dirt staining my knees, the sun casting a hazy auburn in its metamorphosis to dusk; my mother’s call ricochet between the trees. Come home, Come home. My hometown: Where buckeyes break from the trees; digging into my back when I fall. The sublime knocking at the front door: Come play, Come play.…
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Spilling Tea
By Emilee Friend They gossip As I sip earl grey. No sugar is added To sweeten their words Or the bergamot on my tongue. They add cream To lighten the topic. I prefer my tea bitter and black, Better to keep me alert Of those with a knife at my back. They gulp down Nightshade tea, Declining the offer Of lavender, chamomile, or mint. Tea parties are wasted If you don’t poison each other With words. They let the drinks get cold. Teacups crack, Dripping red drops of rooibos, Staining the white cloth. They don’t take a break. The stain sets.
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Museum Fatigue
By Anna Potter Upon viewing “Three Figures at the Base of Crucifixion” by Francis Bacon Garish orange framed by sterile white walls, black hole churning in redbrick universe, and I, small spectator, sucked into its revolution. Fifteen is the age of revelation, the year of waking up to the sharp edges of this flesh-suit, that eternal itching, that toothless smile, pedestrian still in matters of horror, that worldly sting still fresh on my cheek. * Consciousness demands screaming, I think. The lungs of a newborn can attest to this theory, how we all emerge, gory and guileless, shrieking into this world. But for the dying, for the dead, …
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Mother Tale
By Anna Potter We tell each other stories I tell you how in eighth grade I tried to graft new flesh Onto my birthmark, how when I began the crime of bleeding, I dammed myself with cotton and chocolate. You tell me how your body formed from the crust of earth, how desire rose in you with the same ache as morning sky, and how heavy it has been ever since. I had forgotten this until now, but once An old friend coaxed me with stories of how the sun rises in Haiti, how my body’s vacancy might soothe his own. Another recalled how she observed the curvature of the…
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should
By Amy Myers should. an ambiguous being that holds an impossible burden. it dances in the past and future. attached to the verb of the doer. they should’ve been graduating; they should’ve been traveling; they should’ve been alive… it should be over by then. should gasps for air as those around him confuse his being for selfish hope and pseudo nostalgia for a time that never existed. wishing to surrender my reality, i extend my hand to should, and he settles into my brain almost as if he should’ve been there already. should holds my mind with an aggressive, hostile grip. sadness overwhelms me, and i am now lost in…
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Nocturnal Depression
By Grace Hall Today I’ve fallen in love with the clouds And the trees And yellow I smiled freely and laughed in the face of life’s little inconveniences And became enamored with the notion that I am capable of such immense feeling. But now it’s raining And pouring It’s four in the morning And my poems are all starting to sound like cliche little nursery rhymes Although I can’t seem to care Because while the day seemed bright and full to the brim with endless possibilities The limitations of my bedroom walls Those towering shadows in the dark Feel as though they’re crushing the air out of my lungs Expelling…
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Sky High
By Andrew Jones My favorite ways to watch you: When you roll your back onto the couch, letting your paws stretch towards some unknown pleasure, waiting for the inevitable belly rub. When you find just the perfect plot of grass to rub and roll around in, tail like an industrial fan while you tangle every part of your body with every inch of leash I have left. That is to say, my favorite ways to watch you are the ways you’ve flipped my world over and let me drift in your Sky.
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Cardinal
by Leah Dietle * A vermillion stroke across the canvas above- before perching on a branch to rest your weary wings. Your artistry makes others green- envious of your love affair with the wind which carries you. * But my mother looks forward to your arrival- she searches for your existence outside the window. She believes as the wind carries you, you carry reunification- a spiritual messenger from those we lost. * To her- you are the afterglow as her sun sets. A beautiful melancholy- a subtle pungent sweetness infused with the dry sharpness of grief. A pinot grigio for the eyes- addicted. * She feels orphaned now- pacing in…
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Idée Fixe
By Matthew Brothers * So, you see, sigh, swallowed by shame; sickened. You swim in the cleanse, feeding the bursting red. The cycle surely starts again, and soon; you crumple and swoon. * Staring at the spectacular moon, you hope you can hold off. Don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t engage. * Euphoric seconds, that’s all she wrote, all the shame to bare for seconds. Seconds. Seconds. You engage in seconds. * The soulful swell of sorrow and disgust spew up, Siamese cats strut, pounce swift, and never feel your shame. The shame is for you and yet could spring on all, but no reaction should be the same. * At…
