Burial of My Past Self / The Woods And I

By Alex Crowthers

I can feel my breath, my chest e x p a n d i n g and contracting like the softness of wind that
traces through the rambling ivy I know so well. I’ve fallen in love with the shadows that paint
my skin and mimic my freckles, and suddenly I am blessed by my timbered, towering friends
who shield me from the glowing sun.

I often wish myself a quiet burial within these saplings, they know her from years ago. I’ll loudly
announce “I no longer recognize her”, despite my flesh that remains the same — weathered, but
the same. The woods know her and respect her more than I do.

(I ought to make note of that)

This weathering is comforting evidence: My change doesn’t stray too far from the wood’s. It’s in
the bark that stretches farther, the branches that reach taller, and the roots that dig them-
selves deeper — building networks I could not break down, even if I tried. I look to the woods to
remind myself beauty is never stagnant, no, it plays on a cycle of know-nothings, assimilation,
and a never-final flourishing. We have more in common than I remember, And I know my eyes
are not the only ones that pleaded comfort here,

just for help through to the other side.

Soothe

By Erin Winship

lay me down on the itchy green grass in the
middle of a wooded path where i can look
up at the sky and watch the clouds and
stars dance as the wind blows comforting
and cool air around and past me and as i
lay there please let the creaks and groans
of old trees keep me company as i wait for
the animals to come and finally take their
share of my nutritious skin and organs and
when the feeding has begun let me feel the
sharp teeth of the red fox tear into the meat
on my right arm ripping a large strip of skin
and chewing loudly and messily near my ear
and i dig my fingernails into the packed dirt as
the small rabbits who lay on my torso slowly
tunnel though my liver and stomach and as
the cardinals rip out my hair for their nests
i lift my hand to pet the gray squirrel’s head
as he sits on my collarbone while eating away
at my chin and i squirm as the slimy earth-
worms find their new homes in the cave of
my ear and snuggle into my plush eardrum
and when i look down at my body to see
blood and torn flesh i can only smile and
slowly close my eyes as the beavers tear my
bones from their sockets to use in their dam
and i slowly close my eyes as i let the animals
take as much as they need and let me feel
every pain and sensation from their feasting.

Fire Doesn’t Work

By Amy Saad

As a kid I hated fireworks I never understood the purpose of the excruciating loud noise only for a moment of lights in the sky to diminish within the second I never thought the noise was worth it it isn’t worth it to poison the sky with dangerous fumes just so the little people can look at the lights and cover their ears but people did it anyway and people will continue to do so because it’s pretty and life is short and it was only $20 at the grocery store and you only live once and why not and as I got older I began to appreciate them more sure the noise was annoying but I got used to it and familiarized myself with the popping of the fireworks and was able to watch them through my window with my index finger against my ears and as I got even older the noise no longer bothered me and I stood outside with my neighbors on every 4th of july and listened to the screech as it reached the sky and the BANG as it exploded against the stars and poured bright lights of pretty colors and I never noticed the evolution of my appreciation for the fireworks until I was in the corner in 4th grade and my teacher told us to be quiet if we wanted to survive and I remember watching the news of the school 15 minutes from me and listening to the audio of the shooting inside the school of the people who I went to preschool with and I remember hiding in the biology lab in my highschool with 50 elbows touching as we wept and I texted Mom I love you I’m scared and I remember watching the news of the next school and the next one and the next one with tiny kids and teenagers who looked like me and scared adults with the same shooting and I watch the news today and see the bombings and killings in Palestine and Congo and Sudan and in so many places that I can not name them all and it sounded too familiar to the fireworks that took me so long to love and I can no longer hear the noise of the fireworks without getting flashbacks and I can no longer be at school and hear a bang and think nothing of it and I can no longer hear the sounds of the fireworks outside my window without a million thoughts rushing through my mind and I am so lucky I am so lucky I am so lucky I will forever be luckier than the children who only know popping as a gun and I am so lucky the only popping noises I’ve heard are the fireworks on the 4th of july and New Years and Memorial Day and the birthday of the neighbors and the graduation of the kid down the block and I am so lucky the only popping noise I heard in school was the drill that the police made us do after my friends died 15 minutes away from me

The Woman at the Restaurant

By Emily Zielinski

Today I am at a restaurant,
Alone
On a small Greek island,
No warmth besides the beer that rests calmly in my belly
And heavily on my mind.
I am seated at a far table overlooking the sea-
The wild ripples of the waves move in rhythm with my tainted senses
And at once I am one with the Mediterranean.
All the seats are empty,
Save my own
And another right across from me.
My eyes, although wobbly with intoxication, settle on her-
The woman at the restaurant. She is
Alone
As am I, and she looks upon the sea longingly
As if the sea was her lunch companion.
I study her, as if she were mine, and see myself.
I sober up instantly, becoming aware that what I am grasping
Is not trick of the beer, but of the universe,
Of fate.
She is older than me, but her jovial smile is familiar, soft,
And I can’t help but mirror the shape of her lips.
The gentle summer wind blows her dark brown waves off her shoulders
And while I don’t notice, my hair falls the same.
I don’t know her-
Not really, and yet I read her mind all the same-
Aren’t we both just two souls having an affair with the Mediterranean?
Didn’t she invite us both to sit with her, make love with her,
Until we blended into one?
I look away, but notice the woman turns to look at me instead.
I pause in cautious curiosity,
Not daring to meet her gaze.
She walks-no, floats, dances out of the restaurant,
Past me and further away from her lover.
I am left,
Alone
And in awe, in mastery of
The woman at the restaurant

(I finish my drink and float away)

In My Dreams

By Jayanna D’Silva

In my dreams,
you hold my hand,
and show me what the city of Glasgow has to offer.

Your accent melodically travels through my body
I beg you, please never stop talking.

You live in a pretty little part of this scary world
but the architecture looming above me is like reality seeping in from the cracks

Seemingly making me feel invincible,
you show me around your hometown,
vines run up the walls like the veins that run blood through our bodies, and I am reminded that life is
short.

The amount of breaths we can take together is scarce.
I pray that you take the leap before it is too late,
to make my dream a reality.

Eustacia

By Ori C. Li

Gold dust of the mortal world.
That’s what she is.
She is just everything
I could ever want—beauty, grace,
Warmth, freedom, freedom
To feel. An
Angel.
She shows me her wings and the scriptures
Of memory emblazoned
Onto her skin. She tells me
While she is still here, I should know
I am human. We all need
A little something, and
She’s found herself another mother.
If I am jealous of an angel
Maybe I am a devil.
Something that I do often
Is repeat the same story, over
And over, knowing that
What I do is doomed to fail and it is that reassurance
That keeps me going.
I am a lunatic
And she kept me unwound. But
The wind took her, and like all else,
Will take me too.
I miss her.
I wanted to ask her how to fly.

Year of the Dragon

By Alicia Chang

Bridge

By Mairi Travis

Selfishly
I see parts of you as mine now
Selfishly
I read your poetry
And selfishly
I tear out a page and beg my family to let me keep it
Because it made me cry
For the first time
I didn’t cry when I heard you were in the hospital
I didn’t cry when they told me you weren’t gonna make it
I didn’t cry when they told me you were dead
But I cried today
Over your writing
Over a poem you wrote about a breakup
A lovesick poem that had no business affecting me and that I had no business reading
I’ll keep that poem forever now
Put it in my box of secret things I can’t stand to look at
I’ll read it again and again until I’ve memorized your misery
Until our pain is intertwined as one
Until my tear stains cover yours

My cousin got her cat. I got her suicide note.

Manhatten, 23:45

By Reka Moscarelli

I felt a funeral, in my brain,
so you gave me a piece of an
orange
one of your favorite poems
slightly embarrassed I think
but you read in a clear voice
my head on your chest
I felt your heart beat
beat just a few of the
billion it will beat
you think you will drown before a billion
the line on your palm short
but I don’t believe that
I choose
to believe that I will feel your heart
beat a few more of its billion
In fact I hope I am there for
more than a few.

The Last Light of Suburbia

By Sarah Flynn