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The Elevator
Do You See It, Mommy?, Hannah Elizabeth High PICTURE IT: In the dark parking garage at the Towson mall, bottom floor, standing by the elevator at 10:32 PM, a girl checking her phone. Battery nearly dead. The girl petite, slender, cute blouse and shorts. Pretty, with an air of innocence. Eighteen years old, just submitted her…
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Nest
Growth, Liatris Hethcoat The nests I see are not so high above my head as they had once been on this track. And now my hands can fit inside the gloves you wore when walking down this cul-de-sac. These twisted twigs would leave me freshly scraped were I to wrap my hands around the birds’…
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Namjadeul
Untitled, Elise Ketch Matthew The vaulted ceiling of early morning and hemlock canopy float around you like a vulture. I can see your fjord-blue eyes from this bird’s eye view. You look up at me- a splayed and pinned Vitruvian man encircled in heavy sleep. You turn your head on a bed of peanut brittle…
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Magnolia
Beauty After the Storm, Rae Clickenbeard Before even the hum of bees came the seed pod of a magnolia tree. It probably tumbled out of some space rock in a moment both destined and wrong, an alien artefact encrusted with ritual blood. At Earth’s first hazy kiss it erupted— suckering tentacles shot out and tore…
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7 Things I Don’t Have the Chance to Tell You
Self-Hatred, Logan Sullivan 1. I learned how to braid. The YouTube tutorial was awful,And I ripped out most of your mom’s hair.2. The ballet recital you were rehearsing for,I learned the whole dance.3. Yes, the coffee mug you broke was my favorite, but I didn’t care.And I still don’t.4. I got you the bike you…
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Little Iguana
To Warm A Bed – Iambus, Louie-Paulo Darang Little iguana basking in the sun That iguana has never filed taxes Probably because it can’t read I hope that it doesn’t get arrested About the Author Wilson Haworth · Guilford College Wilson Haworth is a sophomore Political Science major at Guilford College. This piece first appeared…
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Supermarket in Santa Monica
Perch, Victoria Barry Fluorescents shoeshine my Shop Local badge. My shoulder tote sags fair trade coffee bags. Here I think of all that is super: the man, the ego, this store, this man these chocolate raisin samples I halfheartedly resist, toeing the line between my personal illusions & the mango stand. What thoughts of things…
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Blackish Blues
A Better World is Possible, Ernest Volynec Every night, as the star had risen The thought of escape would cross We divulged our truths and hearkened their lies Over pain that would never leave and freedom that was lost Inquiring of the Man Upstairs, we questioned “what did we do?” Accustomed to…
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Becoming Zero
Wrung Out, Kaitlyn Kugler It is my thirteenth birthday. At the lunch table I sit facing my friends with a ten calorie bite of vanilla cake marinating on my tongue. Amylase is breaking down the microscopic sugars, sending them sizzling down my gullet where peristaltic movements smush and squeeze them…
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Coleopterist
Tomato Menace and Floral Rabbit, Jury St. Judge Nothing’s a secret once you know about it. The jewel beetles became a regularity in the kitchen. The first was the color of a geode’s guts, translucent purple. It sipped from the lavender-licorice tea you left out. You’d forgotten about your…
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A Sense of August
Untitled, Zachary Vaughn My walk home would be pleasant—would be rather beautiful, really, with the sunset turning the sky all sorts of colors—if it weren’t for the damned bells ringing from the town hall. They only ring for six minutes—from 5:00pm to 5:06pm—but it takes me fifteen minutes to get home from my receptionist job…
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St. Theresa’s
The Sound of Silence (Austria), Taylor Hedge Sit in the back like a good Catholic and watch the priest in white robes raise his arms to welcome the sinners: the drunks, the men who beat their wives purple and red like wine. They crowd the banister on their knees for absolution. Later they’ll wander into…
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The Eleventh Round
Dripping, Eric Fram There are splats of blood on the mat already. My left eye drips warm blood, much to the interest of Doc, who weaves skin to skin. Then, a simple ringing not in my ear. A shove from behind and I am back again, staring at the big man’s huge black gloves with…
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Nina Simone Tells Me What I Will Lose, Mainly You
Junglescape, Meagan Dwyer The arrhythmic pulse of jazz makes my back arch as I strike a match against the curved edge of your jaw; the thought of you is like stepping outside after a movie when the light is too sharp. I never thought I’d keep a collection of our…
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Asphyxia
Talking Dead, Amanda Stephen As a child, one of her favourite games had been holding her breath. This usually took place in the bathtub, still big enough to swallow her whole. She would let the warm water relax her, chasing the tension from her muscles and her lungs, before she went limp. Her…
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Why We Lived
Beauty and Power, Jini Park If I had known it was Julie calling my name across the fluorescence of the supermarket, I wouldn’t have turned around. “Maurine,” the voice called, again. I turned and saw her waddling towards me from the other end of the aisle. “God, it’s been ages!” she panted,…
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Going to Church
Self-Portrait, Thomas Vause The man I love says there is no God. With lips that could bring the Devil to his knees And a voice that could carve the Red Sea. And me? And me wishing I could believe him. But I have called out to angels in between our sheets And…
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Artistic
Dripping, Eric Fram I used to cry over pizza because it smelled too strong. The air would rise from the plate until it pressed against my face like a wet towel. The smells of tomato and oregano would merge, blending into a hot cloud that hovered around my head and seeped…
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Where the Weed Decays, or an Elegy for Those with Pathetic Adoration
Still Air, Shareefah Pereira After Vladimir Nabokov and his second greatest love affair | For Ms. K You’re forty-two years old and you don’t know how you got here. It’s 1:16 the morning of your own execution, you had beans on toast for dinner last night, you can still taste the soggy…
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How to Stop Playing With Dolls
Sweet Dreams, Hannah Elizabeth High Sit on the floor in the middle of the basement. It’s your very own play area, which makes it the greatest place. Spending enough hours down there makes you unaware of the rest of the world. It’s where no one focuses on what you’re doing. It’s just…
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how i swoon
Do You See Me?, Hannah Elizabeth High your footfall drops on the cement outside where I wait sound echoes my heartbeat matches your step stepped in the way I remember from those old films and the lover was coming to give his lady a long kiss but not too long before I see…
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Horse at the Zoo
Mule, Michael Cabezas Aged in the enclosed paddock, bald-faced and balking, face devoured with botflies, slab-sided, shivers running over the flank. Unsound. Blows harsh air from flared nostrils, one hoof raised, longing for action in his steady gaze. A walk from under shelter to the middle of the cramped corral and for…