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STAFF
Mary Halabani PresidentAaron Guyette Vice PresidentKali Norris Editor in ChiefMariyah Rajshahiwala Chief of PublicationRaisa Santos Senior Format EditorAbeer Naeem Format Editor Ravenn Haynes Format EditorRiana Kolari Format Editor Gina Rivieccio Senior EditorSophie Shnaidman Senior Editor Zainab Iqbal Senior EditorMaryam Ahmad EditorHira Tahir EditorRoksana Jasiewicz EditorSaelly Alvarez EditorMic Braun EditorToni Coleman EditorHinda Dinowitz EditorVivian Khaskin Head of Events Committee Gabriella Calderone Head of Events Committee Alissa Marino Events CommitteeSapir Sirota Events CommitteeHafsa Fatima Events CommitteeCarissa Normil Events CommitteePheobe Law Events CommitteeFrances Shnaidman Graphic DesignerIsaar Tahir Graphic Designer Galit Mamrout Photographer
Covert Art by Frances Shnaidman
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Contributors
Ahnaf Zitou Akmal Salim Alana Silberg
Alyna ValderramaAnes/N.S. Ahmed
Anthony Sepulveda Ardijana Kukic
Ashlee Mellowes Asia Acevedo
Avery LiebermanBethany Friedmann Biseyata Deshmya
Brianna NealBrie Rose
Camila DejesusCarrie-Anne Murphy
Charlene Catalano Christine Sloan Stoddard
Danny Lowe Daniel Edelstein
Denise Davis Diana Harman Doria Wohler
Emma Bean Simmons Enrique Peña
Eytan Galanter Fatema Islam
Gina Rivieccio Grace Paré
Gulshan Ashaque I. Ash
Ilana IskhakovaJanikaa JacksonJavier RiverosJawaria TahirJean Zhicay
Jerome BrownJessica Deleon
Jessica Drigun-Lara Joelle Cohen
Johnny LawrenceJoseph Austin
Julia AndresakisKali NorrisKate Podias
Kathleen Conlon Khurram AliLatife Lita
Lauren BrendleLia Hauser
LilyLiz Larson Mariam Esa
Mark D. Morales Maryam Ahmad Mary Halabani
Merari Hernandez Merna Ibrahim
Mic BraunMichelle Gambale
Miles Mercer Monica Saw-Aung
Moshe ShalomMrittika Deb
Nat ElizaNatalie MosseriNatoya Hutson
Nolan Patrick FronteraOriya Abed
Poetic Unknown Quentin Felton
Rachel AugustinRiana Kolari
Romel MartinezSamantha Merzel Samantha Paucar
Sarah Yazdi Sebastian Dejean
Shadae Brown Shannon Addonizio
Shavi DouglasStained Napkins
Tess StofkoToni Coleman
Vicky Lee Zainab Rehman
Zana Naveed
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SOME CONTENT MAY BE SENSITIVE FOR SOME READERS.
“Some things are scary. Writing about them is scarier. Keep staying strong and write on.”
-Stuck in the Library Staff
5
My body is vacant. I am vacant. But if letting you walk through the aching corners of my body
Will push words out of your mouth Tell me how you actually feel about me then
I’ll pave the way for you Show you all the shortcuts.
I’ll open every wound; healed or not. I’ll sew my heart shut
Become the empty vessel you can own. Let you leave fingerprints on my body, I can wash off if I scrub hard enough.
Make my body less of a sin.
VacantZainab Rehman
6
She was astonishingly beautifulIn that way that one can only get
by avoiding the newsHer unblinking, unwrinkled eyes
Her laugh, a brookEvery thought, a melody
The kind of person civilization was created to protect
CaliforniaCarrie-Anne Murphy
7
Let’s both go upand climb that building
Let’s find a gateLet’s be quiet
Past the residentsPast the super
Past twelve o’clockOn that rooftop
Let’s look belowThose onlookers with their heavy bags
Look at us in our lightnessLook at us on this rooftop
What should we accomplish tomorrow?
Let’s Climb A Rooftop
Jean Zhicay
8
My heart breaksFor I can’t remember his faceI chased after him But he had already said goodbyeI clung to him But he was already leaving
The face of a man I once knewBut more deviousTo him my eyes were KaleidoscopesBird calls in the Bushwick trees
I was a cat in the darknessHe was tall in the moonlightThough it wasn’t rainingLightning struck within the storm clouds
Our eyes glowed in the darkIn the window I saw my skeletonAnd in the mirror I saw my ghostIn the moon I saw his shadowIn the dark we saw each other
COY OR KOITess Stofko
There was no soundOnly the hammering of hearts
Gasping for breathWhen he held me so tight
I was sure our souls could have mergedAlmost
I would have preferred it if he had left as I sleptEver so often I catch a glimpse of his face
Within my memoryAs he smiled
Sitting on the benchHe looked half evil
And I walked towards him.
9
humans make contracts with other humansbut we are animals
who also devourcontracts and spit
them in the woods
paper pulpcarpets the soil
like moss
forget honorforget clausesforget policies
signatures are invalid
with beastsroaming the land
i hold up the camera
and beckon youto smile
but you can bareyour teeth
any way you choose
portraits of
friendsChristine Sloan Stoddard
10
I woke up one morningOne groggy morning I looked into my broken mirror In lieu of my tired reflectionI found his deranged face Prophetically staring back at me
That was the day it started
The paranoia nipping at my every thoughtI head down 55th, till the sun’s gone, till it’s just 5thI feel blisters forming under my feetBut I just can’t stop
The frigid air numbing my mindThe aggressive breeze hugging my body Is my only comfort
As I walk from East to WestI wander aimlessly as I search desperatelyLooking for a hint of a familiar face that’s seen “ME” beforeTo tell me that I’m still “ME”
When I finally find it!They’ll bring “ME” somewhere beautiful Somewhere warmFinally, as I pour out my grievances I’ll come back to life
but it gets colder everydayand even the old faces look at me differentso I keep walking from west to east, 5th to 55th
What a small cityZana Naveed
11
A shadow awaits youNot at all a shadow of deathPrecisely, a shadow of love.
A silhouette of connection and compassionA soul of beauty, a goddess.
A knight in suited armor, a kingA silhouette of trust and loyalty.
A soul fulfilled with hopes and promisesA silhouetted shadow of dreams
A silhouetted soul of love.The urge to unmask a guilty pleasure.
How can one silhouette be so mysteriousYet, so beautiful?
Silhouette Soul
Brianna Neal
12
Change doesn’t suit me well
I can’t handle visitors leaving my house
So what makes anyone think
that when you left it’d be easier?
We didn’t talk much due to prior commitments,
Your music and school, my school work,
Although the days we spent together
Usually left me happy.
Your presence was always enough.
College came closer and closer,
But I failed to see the connection
That you were leaving to follow music.
Don’t get me wrong!
I’m so proud of my sassy sibling,
But the vanishing
Was so sudden.
Your room is always closed
Like a forbidden temple with boobytraps.
Your pictures around the house became WANTED signs,
The locks on the front door became permanent,
Keeping our family in and the world unwelcomed.
Ode to SiblingAlyna Valderrama
13
The social butterfly had left with all the social,
And the silence is the worst part.
Your music, your passion, your motivation, your glee,
It all annoyed me on certain days,
But I’d give anything to hear your flute
Or a Rachel solo again.
It’s so empty, like how you left me here.
Your perished presence here is so far away
Like the space between these words.
And I can’t seem to get over
How many calls can fill
My water gun tears.
I can’t shake this feeling
No matter how much music I play.
I miss you.
You were never one to show emotion,
But I’m not you,
I miss you so much!
Thanksgiving will be a hopeful reunion
And an intermission to my sadness
before being called for curtain once more.
I just hope you make it
And don’t shut me out because of all the tears
I ever spilled for you.
I’m sorry that I care so much,
But I love you,
And nothing will change
My love
Through this tremendous change for me.
14
I walked you to the steps of your home under the brightness of the moon in chrome.
We bear witness through the windows to our soul a bright hearth that made us feel whole.
The faint roar of an airplane overheadas I cradled you through the gusts of winter’s cold. We felt warm knowing we had each other to hold
and I held your hands in mine and I said:
If you could be anywhere, where would you go?With a smile, the whole world was hers
including my being, as my surroundings blur and we kissed as time began to slow.
A heartfelt promise was made, That I’d take you across my hidden heartland
holding you, hand-in-handwhere I wanted to be and where I stayed.
Now, I reminisce un-futures to be briefly escaping the present that has trapped me.
Falling into a rigid wall of self-recallI wonder, ponder, and doubt
if someone, anyone, truly loves me, all-out,for that is the question asked by all.
Thus, upon the faintest roar from the skies abovemy life stalls, and I think of you with love
hoping you are warm in life, adventuring thereof.
True StoryJavier Riveros
15
I walk this lonely pathA dark one indeedWith bushes and thornsWhile my feet bleed
I do not know where I goFor it is quiet and darkAnd in the abyss I stumble When the hounds in the shadows bark
A Rugged Path
Jawaria Tahir
And I cross the rickety bridgeHigh over the bottomless stream
It creaks and wavers under my feetWhile I wonder why I dream what I dream
Because in my head There is a world
Full of hopes Where life unfurled
And light and goodnessBut I am aware
That it’s just a dreamWeaved by me, to forget the despair
So walk with courageAnd know not to falterOr hesitate or stumble
For this dream too will alter
And let light inUnited will be
The thorns and roses And the hounds will run and flee
16
I found my pride on the bathroom floor.Unconscious, bloody, bruised,And in tattered clothing.
Alone. You left him there without a moment’s notice.
Thinking you would be gentle with him I put him aside to speak to you,To be seen by you,To be touched by you,Hoping to be loved by you.
But you grew bored of me,Like a movie you’ve seen one too many times. Your exit strategy was to practice your disappearing act, I didn’t want to witness a magician’s craft.
You left me there,Kneeling on my bedroom floor to play 52 pickup with my heart.A few cards were stuck to the bottom of your Stan Smiths,And as you left, I could do nothing but watch you step on them.
I got out of your car,Backpack on my shoulder.Giving you one last glance,I watched as your car sped down my block.
3:14 AMMiles Mercer
You flung everything I gave you out your window:My innocence,My patience,My heart.My first.
And to think,This all started because you looked at me with that stupid smile.That pearly white smile on that beauti-fully mocha face,You could seduce the pope.
But shouldn’t I feel grateful?After all,My inspiration comes from pain and isolation,I have a cornucopia of creations.
It’s one thing to say I don’t want you anymore.It’s another thing to look you in your eyes,In those beautiful brown eyes and say:“I don’t long for you at 3:14 a.m. in my empty bed anymore.”
17
Mind starts to wonder when I see your face
Heart is torn and so misplaced
Guessing that I’m moving at too slow a pace
Makes me feel like a waste of space
Your intelligence speaks volumes above mine
Poems, letters, questions for you unwind
When I think I’m in behind and I’m even further down in the race
I know I feel like a waste of space
I was a gift as a friend, though I never wanted more
But you let them get closer to you, making my heart sore
Your kindness and care was something more than a case
But I always lost, cause the judge called me a waste of space
Being friends with you is a more than a man could ask
And it’s something I will have to always face
But I ask you one thing, as a small favor or task
Please don’t look at me as a waste of space...
Waste of SpacePoetic Unknown
18
Even eternity ends, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this.
The sun wasn’t made for me. I need something fiercer.
There is no deciphering the fragile rapture of living things,
even as I deconstruct my own worship of water.
Devotion is a desert, and speaks its own language,
soft meditations on the nature of solitude, surgical.
Split lipped sidhe, the unforgiveness of land,
grief reincarnated as a waiting grave.
I treat time as technicality,
cracking the sepulcher of sleepless nights
like communion drywall in places you called home.
Shrine unsheathed, cordate, a tower of identical dead,
a murder of moths as omen for the end.
I know something lived here once.
In Penance for Murdered OrchidsKali Norris
19
To be looked for
To be found
To adore
To be crowned
For all men she is a legend
To find, a lifelong dream
Yet, for one, she is destined
Only one, to make her team
To be protected, day out day in
To never leave her holder’s sight
To be kept deep within
To be for him, his heart’s delight
She is searched for by all around
Because of her there is just one
Ocean to ocean she is not found
For her man has already won
Her price is undefined
She is of value to no measure
To be cherished, to be enshrined
Because for him she is a treasure
TreasureMoshe Shalom
20
I’ve seen Jupiter
On the woman I love,
Shamed by society
To hide with insecurity.
Behind the denim stiches
Of stone-washed jeans.
I’ve seen Jupiter
In my morning cup,
As I stir milk in my coffee.
A dancing affair of color,
Hurricanes spinning about.
Colliding, creating
Moles, birthmarks,
Stretched across the skin.
Eyes of hazel Jupiter,
Don’t shame the imprints
Brush strokes on an interstellar canvas.
Natural tattoos on our bodies.
JupiterStained Napkins
21
Red lines skirmish under the words I write But if Shakespeare can make up words, can’t I too?
This issue must be taken outside the classroom, Because in it we are only fixated on his plays, right?
The world map is the same upside down, try to turn it around, Your smiling frown keeps things straight, but the math doesn’t add Up
It should be an ellipse, a physical skin-bound eclipse So you may not speak, unless it’s in rhythm So you may not seek, unless its decided by a decision
It’s not a choice to have a choice, so please don’t joice again
Did I write it wrong, is the meaning off? Will my song become a poem, unharmonized Will the poem become a bandit, an un-free verse
He who will not be named, but please refer to line two, when I tell you, That this man’s take on a mistake, was an expression, too excessive, His fact that you can take, a letter or two, and turn it to word, undefined, an automatic rhyme, created from atoms, not that it matters, But know he is a deity, dead, and forever free.
So, I’ll choose, I’m contradicted, and I’ve lost, forgive me so I may conclude, To take my word and add it to the dictionary, he did, so can’t I too?
To play god is scary, but leave the plays to Shakespeare, I’ve broken my own law, like my poem turned gangster, I’m no longer divine, or to be PC (poetically correct), human.
For god doesn’t make mistakes, but humans do.
And we know joice is not a word and Arthur Miller was no Shakespeare, but he was human too.
CommentsKhurram Ali
22
I know that you are nervous
and that you are afraid
After all,
nothing like this has ever
come your way
Something so beautiful,
as to captivate your heart,
so as to make you its prisoner;
One you’re glad to be.
I know you are frightened.
It’s only natural to be.
Just take deep breaths,
and know you can always rely on me.
Never forget to pursue
what your heart desires.
And to hold close to you,
all you hold dear.
Do not worry so much,
and things will be okay.
My dear friend,
just take deep breaths
for it will be alright.
Deep Breaths
Mariam Esa
23
If every “I’m sorry”
were a snowflake
we’d be stuck in an eternal winter
with howling winds
and no visibility
If every “I’m sorry”
were a raindrop
the streets would flood
and people would drown
in your words
If every “I’m sorry”
were a shooting star
I’d make a thousand wishes
but none of them
would come true
SorryGina Rivieccio
If any “I’m sorry”
meant anything
at all
then maybe
I’d forgive you
But instead
The words “I’m sorry”
drum in my brain
bouncing off the walls
echoing in the space created by
the absence
of a real apology
24
Normally I Hate Everyone people say that I’m Not Okay
Every single day I’m Miserable At Best
But there’s something about you that’s Irresistible
I think it might be All The Small Things
That make me feel Victorious when I’m with you
You tell me Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off
But I’m Still Into You, doesn’t matter what you do or say
Dear Maria, Count Me In
The songs we listen to together; you call me emo trash
But it’s my favorite stuff so I Don’t Care
So Thnks Fr Th Mmrs the artists born in 1985
Pop Punk/emo trash Ahnaf Zitou
25
1. I don’t believe in God.2. When I said that, you implored, “You must believe in something.” My first
reflex was to say that I believe in myself. But do I? Would it be egocentric and condescending to say “I believe in Myself” in the same vein as a person saying “I believe in God?”
3. Most of the time, I believe in my friends more than I believe in myself. It is easier to see from the circumference of a circle than from the center, all the tangled points equally within reach. Nothing to distinguish left from right, I turn and turn.
4. I don’t believe in God, but I admire people who do. Some days, I find it hard to believe in myself when I wonder about the choices I make, the food I eat, the classes I take. Will I ever amount to anything in life, and will it matter if I do or don’t? There are too many what if’s, too many diverging streams from the river I’m sailing down. It’s like Jorge Luis Borges and his garden of forking paths, each choice spiraling into a new infinity. Universes layered like transparencies over a projector, alternate lives tangled so deeply that not even light can unravel the knot.
5. Even so, cogito ergo sum: I think, therefore I am. Although I am, my life is riddled with variables that can’t be solved for and problems with no clear solution. This isn’t an equation and even if it were, I’m a terrible mathematician.
6. Although I can see my hands in front of me and my reflection in the mirror, it is difficult to believe in myself. These days, it is difficult to believe in anything. To believe in God – to have faith in a higher power that you cannot see or hear – that takes courage.
7. I still don’t believe in God, but thank you for striking up a conversation with me yesterday evening. I’m sorry to say that I’m not attending your Bible study at seven o’clock.
Open Letter to the
Bible Study Guy at Brooklyn College
Monica Saw-Aung
26
You think you love him,
You are so certain you love him,
this intense cyclical love, so good if you saw it in a movie you’d roll
your eyes and think it’s unrealistic,
you fall without looking, with abandon, too quickly, too much, too
certainly,
And then he leaves,
So it leaves you thinking
You only love someone as much as you miss them
And God did I miss you.
He only means as much as that vacuous feeling you get seeing the sky turn
his favorite shade of vibrant blue
And you feel your shoulders drop,
and these good memories weigh you down in a way you never thought they
would,
down like one of those cartoon villains with a blunt weight attached to their leg,
slowly sinking beneath that vibrant blue ocean
that you once danced underneath.
You only love him as much as it hurts when he goes.
and God did it hurt.
You realize you’re walking around with a hole,
He was gone, so the only thing left was his tangible absence,
Something was removed, excised recklessly, but some part of you loves the
misery, because it’s the last thing he left you.
November 16th
Joelle Cohen
27
You look around and wonder if anyone else is caught in the waves of lost
love, if anyone else aches at the winter wind that whistles through them,
feels a sucking of empty space,
The cold reminds you of what you lost, and warmth reminds you of what
you had.
It always all comes back to him,
The love was cyclical,
and so was the loss.
So you feel crazy for a while, completely out of your mind,
like some conspiracy theorist who abandons their reality and desperately
seeks to right it.
He’ll come back, right?
People look at you like you’re crazy, too - a bated breath, a pitiful look,
“You know he’s not dead, right?”
As if in some of your insanity, you’ve forgotten the thing your sense of
gravity revolves around- how very sanely, incredibly, veritably alive he is,
without you.
28
NYC, a city filled with 8.6 million people from every place
known to man
Skyscrapers and buildings decorate the skyline
Yellow taxis and black vans roll down the streets
Millions of conversations buzzing all at once
No such thing as a red light, the light is always green in NYC
We never stop, we are always moving.
NYC, the land of opportunity
“Make it here, make it anywhere” they say
Home for all dreamers, who wish to make it big
Gatekeepers of dreams are dormant in the city’s alleys.
Hundreds are looking for a way in.
But how do you get accepted across the bridge into NYC?
What is the magic word, the secret knock, the password in?
Am I stuck on the opposite side of the bridge, shackled to
these Brooklyn roots?
I am rooted in Brooklyn— so hard to plant a new seed, even
one not so far away.
I’m just a Brooklyn girl, searching for that NYC dream.
NYC DreamerMichelle Gambale
29
“In my home town as kids
we would sit in a circle
and make bracelets
out of these flowers.”
She made me a bracelet that day too.
The flower caught her eye
but I hadn’t noticed it
growing
among the rest of the weeds
that grew outside the gates
bordering the school garden.
After making a silent wish
she ripped off the head of the flower,
the fluid from the stem
clinging to the skin on my wrist.
The makeshift bracelet
eventually turned brown and
I didn’t realize it
fell off
while we walked to the bus stop.
“I don’t understand why we
wish on these weeds
pretending to be flowers.”
Wishing FlowerMerari Hernandez
30
It’s been years since you put me in this hospital,
these four white walls caving in on me.
It’s been years that you’ve been medicating me
with anxiety and paranoia
while I laid there in silence,
unable to move and praying that you would make me feel better.
Because isn’t that what friends are for?
Excuse me as I mistook you for this, doctor,
someone I could look to when I don’t know what to do.
Someone who could help me patch this hole
that has been digging deeper and deeper into my gut
But I never noticed that you
were the one with the shovel.
When you said I could talk to you,
I believed you.
When you let me show you my coffin of problems,
my chest of anxieties,
the secrets that you watched me painfully yank out of myself,
I didn’t know that you would show everyone else.
And now you all stand over me
diagnosing me
telling me what is wrong with me.
But there is nothing wrong with me.
Hospital of LiesShannon Addonizio
31
Melancholia Kathleen Conlon
Maybe one day they’ll get it
When there’s no color left in my cheeks,
When they haven’t heard my voice in weeks.
Maybe they’ll get it when the shoes fit their feet
When they can’t sleep and hardly eat.
Maybe they’ll get it when their bones start to ache
And they can’t leave the bed or participate.
Maybe they’ll get it when that pain strikes their heart,
When their head spins and their world falls apart.
Maybe they’ll get it when the rains come down
And they search for an answer that could never be found.
Maybe they’ll get it when the doctor gives them a pill
That as many times as you refill,
The pain lingers still.
Maybe they’ll get it when the days feel blurry
And you try to take your time,
But they expect you to hurry.
Maybe one day they’ll know you tried,
That you did all you could,
But it wouldn’t subside.
I hope one day you’ll never have to get it,
Because to get it is to be indebted
To the monster that loves to dwell
In your own personal hell.
32
I sit and sob every night,
I remember sleeping in the camps with so much fright.
They shaved my head, changed numbers for name,
They were vicious animals that couldn’t be tamed.
I see my children every day,
I remember the “special target” game.
You run, they shoot, you see your sister fall,
But you can’t stop running if you want to stay alive at all.
I am now blessed with an abundance of food
But I remember seeing starving Jews.
On her death bed my mother said,
“I’ll rest in peace when the Fuhrer is dead.”
I go to my office all the time,
I remember back when I didn’t have a dime.
Begging in the streets and getting kicked in the face,
I really don’t think Jews are the inferior race.
I go outside in the cold of December,
I walk, I cry, I think, I remember;
I remember my mother, beautiful and sweet,
And I remember her as a dead heap.
Nazis shooting left and right,
I squeeze into spaces way too tight.
They want to kill me; they’re coming after you.
For just one reason, because you’re a Jew.
I Remember, You Should, Too
Sarah Yazdi
33
I am from roses
From mehndi and kohl
I am from the dandelion spotted garden
Serene, cloudy, scents of wet soil and mint
I am from mulberry trees
Bearing its sweet fruit under the scorching sun
I’m from ludo and cavities
From nano and thathaboo
I’m from the never-end dreams and tedious longing
From “sorry” and “goodbye”
I’m from old forts and broken walls
I’m from the Rajputs of Punjab
Jalebis, Black British blend chai
From the bent thumb and broken hip my father got from playing cricket
The book my mother wrote but never speaks about
In a cubby above our clothes are films and blurry photos
I am from these experiences, ancient traditions
Bobwhite quails, a duckling afraid to swim
Kites that fly, sparklers that ignite.
I’m from where the divide converges
And memories continue to live on.
Where I’m FromGulshan Ashaque
34
I. My Dog
Dog sleeps on the indented third cushion of the leather couch.
His eyes open when he hears a heavy step, or the refrigerator making ice.
I have seen what this house does to a being.
Yanked on a leash, tail between the legs— he is scared of cars, trees, winter air.
He doesn’t look to me for safety. Instead, he looks beyond, as he stands his ground
Firmly on the front steps, rarely past the welcome mat, unable to trust another.
In the shaking of his limbs, the timbre of his bark, he has inherited the house’s anxiety,
The house’s shifts in mood, the aggression.
I am the one who brought you here.
I pretend to have fallen asleep on the sofa when he lays by my side on the floor,
And the house is frustrated that he cannot understand our words,
That he will not walk into the deep night.
He is not us.
Can something bred to love become resentful?
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I whisper as I stroke him, half awake,
half hoping he feels my sentiment, half hoping he has no clue what I am talking about.
Things build up, as they often do, and explode.
II. My Age
I am nineteen today, mourning in place of celebration.
I lack the luster of a teenager on the cusp of adulthood;
The ease, the sense of purpose, the joy that sparks from being on your own,
Alive, and well, and ignorant, in the way that amuses.
I have aged myself twice over, grieving, full of a dread stuck to the bottom of my
stomach and at the end of my esophagus, that zaps the appetite yet gives me too much
to swallow.
On My MindJulia Andresakis
35
Anything can happen.
I am terrified, paralyzed. My head throbs if I think too long--
Am I stupid? When does the acceptance kick in and the despair dissipate,
Handing back my livelihood like an apology bouquet, with a card reading,
I am sorry for hurting you. You deserve someone better.
I’ve counted the number of times I wash my hands.
They are dry from the scrubbing but there always seems to be dirt under my nails.
III. My Path
She makes me laugh, I hope they say.
Curtains, a stage, a mic: a standard setup for the modern performer.
“Finally! You Will All Listen To Me!” I will shout into the microphone,
In a borrowed baritone voice.
I can tell you jokes, or, with enough practice, even sing you a song.
Juggling might take a few weeks, but I will do it if that is what you would like to see
me do.
I am your clown, remember.
I will not take money. How about devotion? Maybe thoughts - preferably good ones.
Can you make a promise to remember me?
I am naive, I suppose, to assume that I am the protagonist here.
Is there any point to treating each passing dream like a far-traveling quarter,
The kind that makes it to the top of the fountain?
Thoughts create currents; currents create whirlpools.
I can never seem to breathe deeply, lovingly, mindfully.
Do I spend too much time up in my own head? My skull collects dust.
IV. My Doubt
Is this poetry? I don’t think anything separates us.
Nothing is unique; you’ve lived these parts before and I’ve lived some of you.
Why am I so unhappy? I think too much.
Yes, I tend to ruminate.
King of kings? You’ll repeat, words spilling out as a scoff,
That can’t possibly work out, you’ll answer.
I hope the ground tremors when I speak,
36
Untethered benevolence,
“I Love You! And You! And You!”
I won’t really mean it, though, but it will make me feel better under the circumstances.
It is hard not to feel like a muted bird sometimes.
Sure, I still caw, I eat worms, but my feathers are dull;
Grayscale wings beat back against the yellow bodies of my comrades,
Who fly, and hunt, and build nests near other trees with their own nests,
Lineage traceable, generations passing before their beady eyes.
I am the last of my sort. Can I stay inside the hollow of a tree?
I am comfortable, I think, or horribly alone.
V. ???
I cannot control myself!
I cry when things go wrong.
Is this a kind of tragicomedy? A narcissist’s lament?
Hardly.
I am trying to process everything all at once.
How can I prevent what I am unsure is coming?
When does my instinct creep over into paranoia?
I think I have to stand with my shoulders back.
Eyes should be forward, looking ahead,
Arms should sway, slightly, with each step,
I must smile gently, somewhere between mopey and crazed;
normal things happen to normal people.
Was Superman mocked for being a fourth of his age, on a technicality?
That would be one commonality.
I often wake abruptly, unpleasantly.
I stare at the fleck of white paint on my ceiling.
What is today’s affliction?
What costume will I adorn?
Will I be the gentleman, the comedian, the bore?
I need more time to think.
37
Heaven is hopeless
And hidden from view
And I don’t know
How to help it
Because I’ve been a sinner
For as long as I’ve known
That lying
Tastes good on the tongue
I said I’d never repent
Because something in his touch
I can tell
Is worth being damned for
But his lips on mine
And soft sounds of
I love you
Remind me
There are some people
Worth saving
Kate Podias
So I’ll look to a god
That I’ve never believed in
And I’ll get down on my knees
And I’ll pray
Because divinity
Is when he graces my sheets
And holiness
Feels slow and sweet
I won’t drag him down
But don’t want to let go
So Lord, please,
I pray for forgiveness.
38
A tower that plunged us to oblivion.
Bump, Bump, Bumpin’ your ass off.
Astro Land, and the great Deno’s.
The crazy boardwalk at night.
where the wood slowly rotted,
and splintered our bare feet.
Suddenly a bike almost runs you over,
while two Luna-tic crackheads fight over a nugget,
and a nail nearly pierces your foot.
Margaritas on Margarita Monday,
And the sweet bitterness of her Smirn-off lips.
The radiance of flowers in her hair,
The delicate touch of her body against yours.
How she wistfully danced,
To the rhythm of eternal happiness.
Bliss.
I miss those days…
As we sit on the beaches of Coney Island,
And gaze towards the sweet ruby horizon,
The waves crash,
The seagulls soar,
And the stars glisten,
while the grainy ol’ sand,
That we all love, gets caught in our pants.
I remember my friends,
And how we used to do wild things.
We went hopping over gates,
And always got some candy from Philips.
“Warriors, come out to play!”
We all thought we were cool.
I miss those hotdogs from Nathan’s.
The greasy goodness of a frankfurter.
A refreshing ice-cold water, or Corona,
While we sat on the corners of Surf Avenue,
To admire the beautiful mermaids passing by.
A rollercoaster made of wood.
A Wheel as big as life itself.
“Coney Island, My First Love” Nolan Patrick Frontera
Coney Island,
It will be my first love,
Forever and always.
39
Beautiful Black Woman, See MeJerome Brown
Look at me
What do you see?
If you claim all lives matter and that allows you to sleep at night
You don’t see me
I am Sandra Bland...
Take a good look at me, now tell me what do you see?
If I can look after your kids but I can’t meet your mother
Do you see me?
Now look at me, just look at me
If you balance or lessen my beautiful black skin
by saying a smurf matters
You can’t see me
you don’t yet see yourself
Look at me, please look at me, what do you see?
If you see a woman that can’t get a man
My wife would disagree
But you don’t see me,
You see what you want to see.
Please just look at me,
If you brag about the nights we shared to assert your manhood
How can you see me as a woman?
You don’t know what it means to be a man.
Look at me, sister please, take a good look at me,
If you see a stuck-up bitch that ain’t about shit
You don’t yet see yourself,
I am your reflection beautiful and black.
Look at me, please take a good long look at me
If you see anything other than the beautiful black woman I am, you don’t see me
Now look at me, just look at me
I’m inviting you in, would you like to see me?
40
Surreptitiously walking down the alley-
Inhuming the remnants of the past I-
Longed to destroy-
Enchanted by the-
Nonchalant views of the-
Crows that undoubtedly should glare at me with judgment I-
Exhale.
Sit. Breathe. Replenish.
Put. all. thoughts. of. guilt. to. rest.
Exhale, ~do it now~
Alleviate yourself from the trouble you’ve caused
Know that malignant repetition never
Shows her face
Battle of WonMary Halabani
41
If you had to leave...
I just want you to know
that I’ll be thinking of you
as time goes by.
In my thoughts you’ll remain,
reign the shrine of my soul.
But when you leave,
my heart in which you lived,
mournful, will die.
Every Sunday, at noon,
as the day we first met,
if there’s any hope left,
I’ll be waiting for you.
And when destiny arrives,
I’ll just sit in a corner,
As I start to forget
all the enjoyments of life.
And the sun will collapse,
every Sunday at noon.
Brighter stars now are blurred.
No more bells to be tolled,
No more urge to be alive,
every Sunday at noon.
Noon Enrique Peña
42
My eyes are black holes ringed by
Complemented by
A pink accretion ring
My overrated potential abilities and my joy and my sometimes dreams move like cheap
firecrackers
I am so in love with them
I am so in love with my tears
“there has been a death” sobbing reminds me that perhaps my sense of grief is not totally
a stale performance
It is not totally the price for kind words
My forked tongue slips between my teeth to turn a calculated cacophony into honey along
my berry-boisterous lips
That I purse just so, just for anyone
Drops of this simple sugar sweetness dribble into my greedy palms for comfort and security
for remembrance and future spell casting
And these same outstretched hands retreat
Scalded and scolded by unconvincing proclamations of bright white self-love
The long nails of a horned beast poke holes into my arguments
My forked tongue spits into my mirrored face as I whisper with false sincerity,
That I am the most luminous star
I know I am a soiled girl.
You only gasp at stars at night when timing brings you together
No stale romantic searches for them in the day-time.
In the dark, I find you.
So, should I be the most luminous star, as you say, mirror woman
it will not stop me.
Nice Enough Girl and Her Cheap TearsSamantha Paucar
43
Cold. Listless. Movement impaired by movement implied.
White around, temporary, but beautiful.
The day was long. Long and red.
Conversations around the room. Whispers
everywhere about what? Something
round perhaps with frills. Something
like an apple. In the window there’s a bird.
Perhaps a hawk. Perhaps stalking prey.
Perhaps ruminating on the worm he had eaten over dinner with his
Aunt Josephine on the ornate kitchen banister.
Strange coat. Did they use an entire fox? Two foxes?
The fur around her hood like a game of who is richest.
My turn. Called in. Sit down and speak.
I spoke. I spoke beautifully. Loquaciously. Vociferously.
Not highfalutin, of course - that’s too much.
Shake hands. Shaken. Hands or mind? Definitely.
Take my jacket. Taken. Hat? Check!
It is quite peaceful outside. Very nice when
my cheeks start burning because the cold makes them hot.
Like the smart speech makes me feel stupid.
At least the white snow is just white and not
off white or grey or a shade. Until the cars drive by and
make it a shade. Like clockwork. Was white
now not.
SnowflakeEytan Galanter
44
I heard this poem onceIt started like this “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around it hear it, does it make a sound?”
It ended like this“If a black body falls at the hands of a white cop does it make a differenceDoes it really matter, does it make a sound?”
When we were littleWe clothed our bodies in white coatsTelling ourselves “I’ll be a doctor”“Mama I’ll be a lawyer”“Mama I’ll be a teacherI’ll be a preacher or matta a fact mama I can be anything I want to be” (Laugh)
But it ain’t so easy, mama
You see people like us, people like me with my pigmentPeople with melanin coursing through their veins at every inch of their body, mamaPeople who don’t speak American as their first languageBut all get called MexicanJust cuz you speak Spanish you’re Mexican?
Mama, it ain’t so easy for usTo them we’re still sitting at the back of that damn busWe can’t be doctors, we can’t be presidentWe can’t be nothing but gangbangers in the streets or a maid folding the white peoples sheets
OH! Well, do we got them fooled.
Young black men graduatingWith the highest awards, go valedictorianYoung black women too, can’t forget about them
MamaNatoya Hutson
45
Go black man go be president, beautiful black womanGo be presidentLet your curls, twists, and bantu knots wrap around this nation, lift it up And discard all the evil and abominationDon’t let them knock you down…ButYou wanna hear the truth?
They don’t want to see you succeed,They throw obstacles in our way to disrupt our speedTo disrupt our black owned businesses and Latino owned officesTo stop the minority families from Economically, physically, and mentally growing,Probably even beyond them.
Mama, this is hardI thought we came here for better opportunitiesI thought we came here for “Indivisible, with liberty and justice for all” We came for “Land of the free, Home of the brave” but where is it
More like land of the Native Americans that we stand on every day,Home of the white and affluent who look down on us from day to day
“Speak American” they say“He had a gun” they say“A moment of silence” they say
“We’ve had enough” we say
Mama, I’m gonna prove them wrong, I’m gonna have their eyes wide openAs I shower myself with my Bachelor degree, my masters and my PhDLet them come to me so I can diagnose them and flex my medical degreeCuz it’s not gonna be like this for too long
We’re making our way up mama, and yes I can be what I wanna beBut thank god it’s not just handed down to meTime to change and work hard to become a better me.
46
I’m just like my mother. I sweep the floors in an effort to sweep you out of my life.
Bruised and battered knees, I scrub the floor profusely making sure to stay clear from the dark corners of my heart.
I hide you and the image of myself in the impeccable stack of dishes and silverware. Polishing away the secrets, keeping watchful eyes from intrusion.
I rummage through old clothes and unattended mail, ripping to shreds any and everything that smells like love; hungry, unrequited love.
I rearrange the furniture, fluff and prop the bedroom pillows, making sure to wipe down all the mirrors as my reflection whispers to me: “you’ve made a home out of this body.”
Cleanliness is next to Godliness. I hear my mother’s voice, I look down at my feet that are anchored and shackled in love, and then at my eyes soft and tired. They are not my own, they belong to my mother.
I light a candle, sit on the floor, heart rending and soulful, I let the lyrics of Corinne Bailey Rae wash over me like the rising and falling tides of the sea.
I’ve tried to remove you like the dirt stain from my subconscious that won’t let go. I’m just like my mother.
I’m Just Like My MotherAshlee Mellowes
47
homeOriya Abed
home?
a place i call home is a place i’ve never set foot in. it is one that i’m asked about constantly, however, one i cannot provide an answer for. a place so rich with people, with culture, and with history; i doubt i’ll ever get to grasp it all. my dream is to visit home, yet fearful i am to go. i’m haunted by thoughts, by questions: “will i ever get to visit my home?” “is it even my home?” day and night, i’m haunted. a place i call home is a place that’s welcomed others before it has welcomed me.
48
the new you is me, dancing in blue jeans,
hips swaying from side-to-side, stereo’d lips
tongued-down for a touch only i can give.
i’m beside myself, all by myself, but
i don’t mind. oh me oh my, this poem’s the
musk risen from 501s, the pelvic
breeze blown by all the curves you can’t feel. this,
a call back to body, reclaiming mine
down to the dew, an orgasmic crash of
self into self into song, & as
i sing, as i sweat, i swing a name draped
in sunset, shoulders slouched toward the shift—
believe me, i’m happy here, so leave me
to groove out of the blue, out of the blue.
out of
the blueQuentin
Felton
49
Infinite Blue~Alana Silberg
Blue is a hue~
That bewitches the mind
Resisting identification
Shifting from present day to ancient times
Held in high esteem, the color of the infinite sky, scattered powder puffs,
motionless, above in the heavens
Spiritual, sensuous, warm, dimensionless
Greek divinity
The mother of the trinity
Holy femininity
All wrapped in crushed blue velvet
Beloved universally, the color of the limitless belongs to boys in modernity
Synthetic pigments highlighting man’s power, imperial status and nobility
But aesthetic creations cannot be bound by one single interpretation
Blue is the turbulent crashing sea of Moby Dick, and the placid, pale waters of
a babbling brook
Blue is Picasso’s grief
Blue is weakness
Blue is strength
Blue beckons man into the infinite
50
And let out groans when they are pulled away from you.
Only once in a while are you shown appreciation,
When you are sprinkled with cozy chemicals
That awaken the shine that was taken away from you.
But it won’t last for too long
Because soon the four wooden pillars that bear your very being
Will become too weak and give out.
Soon your shine will go into an everlasting slumber,
And you will realize;
All the burns you swallowed,
All the wine spills you endured,
All the laughter they shared with you,
And all the memories they made with you
Shaped your very being
But meant nothing to them.
Because you are just a kitchen table,
Taking on as many plates as they want you to handle, but never thinking of yourself.
Standing here, beside you,
Pain strikes my heart
And sorrow fills my soul
As I sympathize for all you have been through.
You have the anatomy of an empty grave slot
Waiting for a coffin to fulfill its void for all eternity.
But for you,
Your void remains as vacant as the bellies
That sit beside you when they are crying in hunger.
Just as their crying bellies,
Your emptiness is only fulfilled temporarily.
Some days, they dress you
In daisy-woven and sunlight stained fabrics
To hide the cavernous scars
That they brought upon you.
On other days, they leave you naked.
Forcing you to hold their shallow porcelain disks
With burning bottoms
Along with their heavy goblets
With forceful aromas,
Never thinking about the burns or bruises these deeds bring to your bare skin.
The four-legged sculptures that press against you
Disrespect the rules of personal space
The Kitchen TableSamantha Merzel
51
We, endowed in His image, the Maker’s Mark,
I’m wowed by that name in the form of liquor.
Shame as the bottle beckons, icy as Stark
Bottle by the fire, my mind inured.
The glass drains, my colour flushes
Thoughts amass as my veins throb,
In vain I see my blood like the Nile rushes
I’m a prisoner to my thoughts, there is no knob.
O Lord, I have distraught and wronged!
Sought to repent; my sins would not relent -
Hot fires my end, if for you I hadn’t longed
Your mirror image, I embed dent after dent.
My myriad imperfections, how am I my Maker’s Mark,
When in your garden I’m an intoxicated meadowlark?
Maker’s MarkDaniel Edelstein
52
GreyJoseph Austin
I am drunk off of the miseryActively seeking no solution
Despite how dizzy I amEach and every day
I can feel it closing inMy vision turns grey
And it narrowsEverything gets so tight
I can barely see in front of meAs street lights flare in the night
This choking feelingCan’t inhale or exhale
I have become stoneHeart beating but dead as a doornail
In a box of nails but still aloneNails claw against skin
Only a scraping sensationGiving form to what is blankI feel I’m about to disappear
But clawing at my skinMaintains my form and keeps me here
I am drunk off this feelingAnd no one knows within my sphere
When I draw a blank and go grey
No one who knows is hereBecause no one will knowI take solace in drowningThe blank void weighs me downThe gravity of my feelingsHas long since split my crownI can’t remember the time or dayI became locked in my afternoonMy mouth doesn’t make a soundAnd my vision goes greyI am drunk off the miseryIt defines my normalityThe feeling of being dizzyI wander in my realityThe weight piles on like snowCrushed but still aware and hearingAs my limbs go numb from the coldWhen loved ones scream around youYour own will can be lost in the deafening echoMy limbs lack feelingBut they are unable to betrayI am drunk off the miseryWhen the grey snaps to colored realityColor is more colorless than grey
53
untitledEmma Bean Simmons
I am a honeycomb scrapbook of your touch;
each you have drawn across my skin remains
like a burn on my muscles and around my bones.
since the first time I rested my hand on your chest
I have held the heat of your body
between my fingers and under my nails.
winter to winter it has not cooled.
54
The Earth lived before you
She will live after you
Vast and varied
Wide and beyond you
She doesn’t love you
There’s far too many of you to love
Perhaps once she could have
Perhaps once she did
But how can she,
When you cut down her forests
And carve up her skin
When you melt her icy ends
And leave her to suffocate
When you dirty her waters
And kill the life she holds on her back
When you warm the air
And make it far too hot to breathe
But oceans rise and fall
The land always shifting
Things break and reform
You won’t always be here
You were not the first
You will not be the last
And when you are cradled beneath her skin
She’ll have her vengeance at last
The Earth Doesn’t Love You
Fatema Islam
55
Just as the moon gets drowned into the clouds -
all consumed yet shining bright
His eyes clouded over as he sang the tunes of his song
His tune rang bells in temples and clocks
His voice moved my soul, like the wind does to the sea
Creating waves of emotion that flow
through my existence
Flow Through My Existence
Maryam Ahmad
56
I was born amidst a storm
Awake and loud, a part of the world’s festival.
My grandma cried—Not a boy?
My mother prayed, God is great!
Relatives smirked, she is so dark.
It was my father who held me first
To welcome me to the world,
To give me a name that meant patience—
“In this unjust world, may you be the earth,
Kind, patient, and loving all the same.”
And since then, I’ve been patience, I’ve been the earth.
I Am Patience, I Am Earth
Mrittika Deb
57
Essence of it all stems
Rather, kindles
From a thin wisp
Only ignited by a thin scrape and snap
An element that makes all wary to dance around its tiny path
Understanding the vacancy of control
You cannot tame wild fire.
You cannot tame life.
A simple flame we dance around
A little thing with no control
Ignited by only One
Kindled
By a thin wisp of G-d
Festival of lifeBiseyata Deshmya
58
When they first tell you are made
of two antithetical halves,
The Black, and The White,
it’s something reminiscent of an
impact,
sledgehammers pummeling blankets;
Distant. Detached.
I am of two minds,
like a brain separated
by carefully fired bullets.
The In-Between is
The Land of Make Believe,
a mythical place these thoughts
may never enter.
I am the Riot.
I am the Stillness.
I am Euphoria
I am Misery.
Here there is Fire, or Ice, and nothing else
They tell you will break relationships,
hearts and promises.
Bisection of Borderline Personality Disorder
Mark D. Morales
And though you may rage against
this diagnosis of diminishment,
in time you will see they were right.
Ruinous emotions scour away
at the real and rational,
a joy too abundant,
an anger too vehement,
and at the border of the black and white
you see there is no grey, no home
for compromise
and the prevailing of cooler heads
A fearful, wondrous landscape
that subdues
and liberates.
These are things they tell you.
So as you scream your fury at lovers and loved ones
Remind them how much you adore them,
and never want them want to leave.
59
Rigorously running with reasonable repercussion.
Wandering wildly, wondering widely, and without wise withholding.
Treacherous and tediously tied to terrible torment.
Forever fearfully fondling feverishly frequent facades.
Carefully considering constant credentials conspiring for change.
Delusional distance dictating didactic dares despite deadly deeds.
Every ear eagerly excited, existing endlessly, engulfed in egotistical
endeavors eluding eerie endless exits.
Undesirably understanding upholding unleashed uselessness.
Abroad aimless aspirations acquired around apprehensive ambivalence.
Senselessly seeking surreal solicitation surrounding softly sunken
sounds amid sulking scenes.
Wall StreetLauren Brendle
60
Adjective upward comes to mind
Moving toward somewhere better
Pushing away from the ephemeral
Situating in the stock-still happiness of
Two hands, clasped
Glances across kitchen tables
Looking two steps ahead and minding the rest
In a dream I fall backwards on the pavement
And the arms that catch me are struggling
They’re shaking at first and then suddenly go
flaccid
Dropped
I am making waves on the sidewalk
Like a stone in stagnant water
I don’t wake up but instead
I continue to sink
Drowning in solid matter
When I finally pull my body out
I awaken to find you aren’t there
I roll across to Your Side of the Bed
Where your body laid
Where I counted your breaths once
Watching your chest rise and fall
Lofty mountains and summits
A landscape of life, mapped from my mattress
A Note on Motion (Or, Where I Seem to be Falling)
Doria Wohler
61
I lay here
And I pray to an ever elusive God
To leave my sleep to myself
Today I ran cross-town
Downtown
Cross-bridge
Cross-borough
I found myself in a place I once lived
Off an avenue I used to walk
It smelled like them
Those people I used to know
It felt like then
A liminality I used to occupy
And so I turned on my heels
And sprinted westward
Traversing through crosswalks
Running until my legs trembled
Until I reached the water.
I threw a rock out across the brackish tumult
Murky grey beaten against man-made barriers
I threw a rock
And then another
And another
I looked up towards the sun
And out across the horizon
I threw a rock in the water
And it skipped once and then twice
Before diving into the waves
Leaving ripples as it sank
62
I remember how you looked
The memories don’t fade
You brought me a lot of happiness
Because of the stories I made
I saw myself grow up there
And I made many friends
You brought me a lot of joy
Even though it came to an end
To my memory
You are my childhood home
The street I grew up on
The street I would roam
But you’ve changed
And in my memory you are no longer
the same
I am disappointed
And they are to blame
WilsonJessica Deleon
They changed you up
Destroyed parts of you
Where are the details
That made you, you?
You were once unique
But now you are not
You no longer bring me happiness
Nor the memories you once brought
63
My dreams consist
of floating in the Adriatic Sea,
hearing my name whispered
through the waves.
They are telling me
I’m on my path
and I am okay.
Fig trees hang over the cliff
as if reaching for me,
asking for my hand
to give its fruit.
Two sparrows
above, like arrows shooting
into one another,
I hope they are for love.
There is nectar in the
air,
I come here
every day.
ExodusArdijana Kukic
64
I am an ocean
And your downpour of tears
Overwhelm my tide.
With a single plea;
I shield you from the storm you’ve brewed.
My senses amplified by the crystallized rain
Pelting my skin.
When you hold me in your hands,
My sheer form slips through
The gaps between your fingers
Leaving only the speckled dew on your palms.
For you,
My rippled waters are enough to lull your panic.
But I
Long for the day I’ll be still.
Today I can only
Await the moment
You’ll desiccate
my empathetic heart
And all of me
Will be yours.
For youDanny Lowe
65
Long way away
Into the land unknown,
I’ve come to see the truths unfold;
The life among,
The culture within,
The clash of religions,
And the people in between.
In a precarious position,
There stands a land
So desired in the belief that
It is the root, where it all began.
Everywhere you go,
So beautiful and fantastic
Were the creations with their formations
Over the duration of my exploration
I lived as though
I was at home.
Truth be told,
I fell in love
With what this land can offer us all.
And now I know
Having been through it all
That it truly is the holy land.
Discovering The Holy LandAkmal Salim
66
As snow does to fire
through splendid cities,
flowers of ink
pour burning love
onto each skull.
Overcast accrued,
a rotten flower resists
from the sadism of
abstract thought
that plagues the mind.
Its emotions dwindling
with the reality that earthlings
cannot simply pick them up
for sympathy but rather look
upon with sorrow.
The flower of this nation’s
youth should compel that
people cannot accept a rotten
flower as its dependent but rather
as its way of maturity.
We the people shouldn’t bow
down to any complicated sentiment
because if we all stand together as one,
then we can modify this rotten flower
into a prospering rose.
The Flower’s Dream Anthony Sepulveda
67
El Sueño de la FlorAnthony Sepulveda
Como la nieve hace para disparar
a través de espléndidas ciudades
flores de tinta
vierte amor ardiente
en cada cráneo.
Nublado acumulado,
una flor podrida se resiste
del sadismo de
pensamiento abstracto
que plaga la mente
Son las emociones disminuyendo
con la realidad de que los terrícolas
no puedo simplemente recogerlos
por simpatía, sino mirar
sobre con tristeza
La flor de esta nación
la juventud debe obligar a que
la gente no puede aceptar un podrido
flor como su dependiente, sino más bien
como su camino de madurez
Nosotros, las personas, no debemos inclinarnos
a cualquier sentimiento complicado
porque si todos nos unimos como uno,
entonces podemos modificar esta flor podrida
en una rosa próspera.
68
I met an angel once
She walked as if her body didn’t exist
Rising with the wind
Transcendental
No bones to weigh her down
For she was an angel
And she was beautiful
I met an angel once
Her hands were soft and smooth
Like a rock that had been beaten by the
ocean for centuries
Her fingers were delicate and long
Her touch was heavenly
And she was beautiful
I met an angel once
Who radiated warmth
Golden and vibrant
Distracting from the darkness behind
her eyes
With her sun kissed skin
And I thought she was beautiful
I met an angel once
Who had javelin teeth
Nestled between pink gums
Wide and gray was her smile
And they said she was beautiful
I Met an Angel OnceLiz Larson
I met an angel once
Her nails were barbed
And caught my arm in their thorny grasp
Cutting through my dry skin like
unsharpened razor blades
I painted her nails
Translucent and gray veins
Wrapped around her elegant fingers
A makeshift ring
And they said she was beautiful
I met an angel once
And they said she was beautiful
But her high-pitched voice screamed in
my ear
And her emancipated fingers clawed at
my skin
Palatable malevolence glowed around her
sockets
She hated me
But she was still beautiful
And still an angel
I met an angel once
Who tore me limb from limb
And made a game out of my ripped
ligaments
And cracked personality
I met an angel who smiled at the world
passing by
But all I could see was myself in her teeth
69
Frustration seeping
Trickled beyond
Simple nail digging marked palms
Until it’s crawling into those untouched parts of life
And you are running into those walls
You never managed to knock down
You are scrambling
But you are so used to scrambling
To bottle up what you never realized you ever had bottled up
To watch a mess unfold
Beyond the brain
Pouring now
Sitting with your hands tied and locked
As puddles become oceans
When they whispered “suppression is not healthy”
You tuned them out, believing with all of your shaking being
That all that was being suppressed had to be worse
Drowning in your own man made ocean
Rusty locks and chains
It’s harder to swim now
But swim now
While all that is left refuses to be tied down
SuppressionNatalie Mosseri
70
I.
I scooted so that you could have
Space.
If you don’t want it, can I have it back?
II.
Near death experience today.
Didn’t ~stand clear of the closing doors~
They’re stronger than I expected.
III.
There is a man manspreading next to me.
I am aggressively I-have-a-violin-case-
between-my-legs-spreading back at him.
I shoot a look of disbelief and rage at the
manspreader, and earn a smile from some
rando.
I don’t smile back.
IV.
I am sorry
that I hit you
with my violin case.
It’s not my fault
that when I passed by
you chose to stick out your face.
PoetrainGrace Paré
Please have pity,
do not shout
or stoop to measures so base,
you are right
mea culpa
I’m a clutzy disgrace.
V.
“Train traffic ahead…
Train traffic ahead
Hello ladies and gentlemen,
There’s a Q train stuck around the bend,
Hold on tight, it’ll be some time
There’s no way around on this crappy line.
It’s all the train dispatcher’s fault, she’s
been a mess lately
Thank you for your patience.”
That train dispatcher!
If I ever catch her,
I’ll dispatch her.
VI.
Well hello throw-up on the tiles.
How’d you get out here in the wild?
And how did you get to be
Yellow and brown and somehow green?
Did you explode in some drunken frolic
Out of the mouth of an alcoholic?
Or were you cast out from the throat
Of someone unfortunate struck with bloat?
71
VII.
I see a hot train guy.
He sees me.
Am I a hot train girl?
Will he write a poem about me?
No.
He looks like a finance bro.
At least this is what I say to comfort
myself when he gets off at
~Eastern Parkway/Brooklyn Museum~
VIII.
“What’s up ladies and gentlemen?
It’s Showtime now on this express N
Give your attention to my boy Ben
Anyone gonna shell out a ten?”
They’re doing the hat tricks again
I’m nervous watching his boy Ben
He drops it twice before the end
Couldn’t keep his balance on the bend
IX.
Please do not eat your
Food smelling so delicious
When I’m so hungry.
X.
My mouth is a
hair’s breadth from your hand,
my breath’s on your hand,
if I yawn I’ll bite your hand,
Stranger.
Uncomfortable intimacy--
I can see your too-short nails,
blue veins protruding from
gripping the pole
Tightly.
The universe
and the crowds
have brought us
together, forced us into
Closeness.
72
This was kind of last minute
Like most poems are
Written in the crevices of your hands
As you wash off the dirt
In the caverns of your mind
Just before you say the words:
“I love you.”
Last MinuteBethany Friedmann
73
I hurt myself on purpose today
I cut myself deep with the words you’d say
I slowly open the wounds that I thought were closed
Bleed out everything with all my force
Trying to relive what I thought would last
Destroyed me much more than trying to live in the past
Thinking with each day I’d finally get over you
Was so much a lie I thought it was true
I’m living each day with so much hurt and pain
That if we were to be together it’d drive me insane
With me finally admitting that I’ll never be over us
Makes me question was itx not love and just lust
I hurt myself on purpose today
Hoping this time the feelings for you would finally go away
Hurt SelfShavi Douglas
74
Ophelia’s BouquetAsia Acevedo
You plucked me at peak ripeness,before the insects could siphon me dry;
but the pain of the aphids frantically prying into mepales in comparison to being ripped from the earth
by your selfish handsas you made room for yourself
in the soil and water I loved.
Clutched in palms damp with determination,I watched you snatch more innocentsfrom the garden sowed to withstandsins more wicked than the betrayal
you harvest in your heart.
You hope the color of our petalswill brighten your sallow complexionwhile your waterlogged pores replace
any remnants of rosy, tear stained cheeks.
When they find youmouth agape, lips chapped,eyes emptied,
they will not commend your effortto beautify your selfish end,
but instead wonder why you felt so compelled
to kill the beauty around you too.
75
When the skies turn grey and days grow short.The nights are longer and wind howls.Apple crisps and cinnamon fills the air.
Trees shedding their springtime bliss.The leaves crunching underneath your shoes.Brisk air caressing the nape of your neck.
A sniffle for every breath and a tear out of each eye,Mascara stains your cheeks.Your hand rummages in your purse,Crumbs of tissues fall out.
After one last hug goodbye,Summer has finally made her exit.
Summer’s InterludeJessica Drigun-Lara
76
Who Am I? I Am A Woman of ColorShadae Brown
Who am I?
I am strong, I am brave I am the bravest person you’ll ever meet I will protest injustices and lead marches until my feet bleed I will stand up to the white man, to the system, even if it kills me I am Rev. Dr. Pauli Murray And I am legendary I am the cornerstone of the Brown vs Board of Education of Topeka. A black lioness, a black panther, a black cheetah.A God-sent revolutionary thinker I used my platform, I used my voiceActivism came to me, I had no choice Because I am a Woman of Color
Who am I?
Oh you’ve heard of me That white man came, he stood there and looked Told me I should get up, fall in line, play by the book But I would not move. No I would not budge. Today is the day I fight back enough is enoughThey said know your place, Niggers should sit at the back But who are they to tell me what to do just because I am black I know who I am, I know my place I am Rosa Louise McCauley ParksAnd my place is in the History booksBecause I am a powerful Black woman
Who am I?
77
I take a knee, to take a stand, but you can’t understand that my stand is not against the anthemIt is a protest, about injusticeThe injustice faced by minorities, under the hand of the privilegedSo you, the privileged, can look down on meFrown on me, call the police and act like the fault is all on me.Don’t bring politics to work, politics is workThe blood, the sweat, the tears, through the yearsIt was legal to own someone like meTo rape, to beat, to kill someone like me. But you want to Wakanda forever and “hey aunty”Sing kumbaya and not see race, because the injustice that we face, is not your own
There is no excuse you are grown, so how can you not see color? How can you look in my faceand tell me black lives don’t matter.The only thing you gave us was that white washed lord, claiming we are playing the race card,when our men are locked up behind bars, and a white man runs the ward.This is modern-day slavery, scratch that this is slavery. Because it didn’t end it metamorphosed,into this society where we cannot resist, where we cannot assist, our brothers and sisters beingkilled by the police, the cemeteries being filled by black bodies, but I will be loud until theycome for me. I will kneel ‘till my knees bleed, ‘till the streets are repainted with my blood, ‘till the governmenthas had enough, ‘till education is not corrupt, ‘till these organizations go bankrupt.Oh black people don’t have power, well this is the real-world Black Panther and we won’t give up we won’t surrender. So let us kneel.Who am I? I am Shadae Brown a woman of color.
78
We see them moving
Navigating life with a drive
That comes from
Holding hands with satisfaction
Willing to achieve at
The cost of sacrifice--
And then,
There are the ones who are content to
wander
Aimlessly
Rowing across the puddles
And skipping across the continents
And they are in love with life--
Here I sit
Aimlessly
Best friends with dissatisfaction
With my eyes cast to the ends
And my knees struggling to support my
stomach
In swallowing my allotted life
For I am in love and bitterly disappointed
that
This is
It.
12.10.2017Denise Davis
That I get only one life to experience
That I cannot open my fingers and drink the
oceans
(That my perspective is limited
To my eyes alone)
For I do not know how to live
I have not captured this
Balancing movement of existence
My fingertips remain outstretched
Trying to feel the breath of the ocean
To learn how to feel the entire world
To be and have been
To continue on
I search for this
Failing
For
At the soul of my souls
I am lost
79
overly loved Sebastian Dejean
too much love makes me sick
so don’t overflow your passion on me as a way of getting my attention.
terms of endearment always putting forward compliments
reminding me of all the uneasiness i’ve encountered in the name of tenderness.
this is all you unabashedly owning your truth
while finding this extremely courageous my heart’s screams remain blindly dangerous
i speak, you listen but my words stay within your oblivion
maybe that’s why you so gladly execute these motions for your past does not sting in between recollections.
80
The Dangers of NostalgiaMerna Ibrahim
It’ll hypnotize, stealing you from reality
Grabbing you by the arm to take a walk on a rainy day
Asking you to step outside, “but it’s getting dark”
Persuading you, “it’ll only be a minute”
“I don’t want to remember the things I haven’t thought about for a while”
It’s like landing on another planet but everything is familiar
Leaving to return once again
Recognizing everything but refusing to say hello
Making eye contact only to look away
It’s a cup of coffee to keep you up at night
Creeping into your dreams to shake you awake
Whispering softly, breathing down your neck
It’s the box of things you keep under your bed refusing to open
Hidden away from eyes that water
It’s an overflowing storage room of memories you keep locked away
An ocean you’d rather not swim in
Diving too deep, drowning in nothing
Reviving yourself to dip your toes in once again
It’s a train stopping at destinations that seem obscure
A blurry vision that is all too clear
It’s flowers that don’t get watered because it’s better if they wilt.
81
The green container of food empties itself into my stomach,
minutes passing way too soon until it reaches 11 pm.
The green envy in my heart pumps into my veins, mixing with the blood and coagulating where I bleed heartbreak.
My brain swam after I red the text
and I’m still trying not to drown in my soup.
Past and present mold one another, and I cry for the cheap ceramic years.
I redden my cheeks as I text back, knowing I’m encouraging the fight.
But it is also her choice, if she does not freeze in the backyard of her mind.
Blue lips and a dead phone… it all scares the fuck out of me.
And this is a common occurrence.
She blue me off in the last text, because I didn’t blow up first.
It makes no sense to me. I continue eating my fill.
Purple rain, acidic tranquility and the only weather that can kill this mood.
I miss her and the week hasn’t passed, nor the day, nor the hour.
Purple prose flees my fingers but it is only running away from the white whispers in my head.
The lies of my dreams, the exodus of rationality.
The white cannellini beans slosh around the soup, fat pillows adorning a bed.
I try not to drown, I try not to fall asleep.
Orange flavored seltzer washes down the pill, because I have trouble swallowing them on my own. It is not enough for transparent yellow D3 gel pills to be in my daily diet, metallic-tasting truths must be fed to me as well. My brain still swims, and the paint slides vertically down the canvas, down my throat, choking me to tears. The wetness wakes me from my reverie and I stop thinking about her. My dinner is long gone, but I still sit alone in the dining room, dissociating from reality. When I come back, I accept my plate and all thoughts muddle, and all shivers return.
And all the colors fade to grey and turn bleak, and as my favorite of all materializes, it mirrors the future.
Purple ProseMic Braun
82
mean girls being V sloppy with their hormones always doing the talking. i’m only mean cause iwannabe & the desert is a lonely dry place to live in. there’s a wet lizard that won’t stop talking about profound taxes & the other business deals. i almost bought another pair of casual kakis but they’re not PINK—what’s playing on the TV? if you think before you drip shop you might end up being happy—but i don’t think i’ve ever had to pay for things. i’m V good at giving knowledge; i almost didn’t go to college. a cool girl on the subway taught me the secret matrix for mixing language & sound & NOW i whiskey-whistle out the cadences just to hear them when i’m down.
the boys really like me; i think i’ve made some friends; their party seems to never end; US mean girls can recommend.........a way to live: it’s not the best but it’ll get you through. my mother taught me adaptation for the survival game; i like WINNING too! first learn to love the small changes & collect them like a hungry bank. one night, you might have enough fuel to burn away all the cracking skin—call me then. i heard there’s a whole city for the lost moths & they don’t even have to pay rent; not a single cent! we have no past, only plans. i have new thick skin & a real husband. now about those bones; you can always still feel it in the old bones.
the virgin suicideToni Coleman
83
No wonder my body doesn’t let me sleep
It’s those damn dreams I keep having
The fake realities.
Everything I’ve ever wanted
Just for me to wake up
And watch it all vanish
As my eyes slowly open
And the dream starts to get cut off
And blur out the picture
Little by little
Until it’s all gone.
So the next night
Body exhausted, eyes burning, mind overwhelmed with thoughts
My body resists the urge to sleep
It doesn’t want to see you again.
InsomniacRiana Kolari
84
I’ve been having weird dreams latelyBut not in my sleepWaking dreams within this endless nightmare of a worldWhy do I dream
I dream for many thingsLove, acceptance, blissI can never attain these Why do I dream
The world is a cruel dark place I want to make it a bit lighterMy struggling ember is dashed by the cold harsh waves of realityWhy do I dream
If all I could ever be is someone who tries Why even tryRealism is not pessimism, and so thoughts of happiness exist but are quickly snuffed outWhy do I dream
There is no safe place There is no hideawayAnger and hatred, bitterness and despair, will always consume allWhy do I dream
Ask not what the world can do for you, rather ask how quickly you can escape from the ragged chains of this mortal coilDream of a place far from this void of hopelessnessDream of eternal rest
It will never come.
Why do I dream?
Why Do I Dream?
Avery Lieberman
85
the crippling thought of making an error
courses through my mind constantly
speak little to no words
saying nothing inflicts no harm
i’ve made no mistakes
yet the words slip from my mouth
i’ve caused a problem somehow
this fault was started because of me
it’s always because of me
i’m sorrybrie rose
86
New York is a playground
For those whose skin flushes bright red,
Whose tongues like spoons
Follow their parents steps
New York is a haven
For those who were born in clouds,
In Zeus’ lap,
Sons and daughters of horses and man
And Hades was born
In a low-grade hospital in Brooklyn,
He swims in his small pit,
Where he hears voices of those who’ve fallen
With the little he has, he tries,
To put the meat in Cerberus’ bowl
New York in OlympiaNat Eliza
87
Missing I. Ash
7:40
Do you ever text someone and they don’t respond immediately?
So your mind whirls a million thoughts per minute Like, Do you ever miss someone so much that you are fighting tears standing in a huge crowd? Because the warmth of the one hug you’re craving can’t be felt anywhere and instead the world’s chill is seeping in. Do you ever wish so hard that circumstances could’ve been slightly different in the past? As if had you said one different word or given one extra smile it would’ve been a whole different world today. They wouldn’t have gotten so far away so quickly. And I know we all must grow, And move forward and onward, And that things won’t always be the same. But if I could’ve changed one thing to still see them as often as I used to, I would do it without even blinking. But I mean it’s life, don’t dwell on the feelings
and just push forward, right?
No use in being down about things that can’t change.
7:45 ... Here comes a reply to the text and
All the swirling pitying thoughts slow to a stop.
The smile is back, and the world is bright again because you realize
they’re only a couple of taps away.
88
OculusLily
L
o
w
e
r
your eyes and
C
o
v
e
r
your face with your veil
Your woes; at the door.
89
It’s swing.
An odd time signature, the same when I ate
The ash from your lungs, making love on
The cover of the trashed paperback.
Rotting consequences ripped open, bleeding
The sorrow, secreting the truth out of me.
There’s a war going on – We never won it.
We were one, aiming at heights.
Odd time signature again.
5/3, 3/7, 7/8, 2/6.
It’s swing.
Life is not a merry-go-round.
In case you were following the rhythm
Of our bodies in this meter.
Where is the intimate proposals
And imminent divorces?
No winners, no losers.
No reason to gain the upper hand or know
What comes out of this.
No destinations, distinctions, nor titles
No way to bloom inside our youth’s womb.
Yeah, it’s swing.
We were told – lied to – we were always 4/4.
It’s a tradition, it’s the way our fathers tell it.
Like our song we croon to.
1969Romel Martinez
90
For Brooks
Those Midnight Boys roll down Brooklyn
in the dance of smooth chords and thin gin.
In Bay Ridge, our seven plant bullets in
the soil of graffiti bricks. They’ve been
lurking to the tune of Shakur and own sin.
Those Midnight Boys are rolling down Brooklyn.
They’re real cool, you know? Their art of snatching
prey from unpaved streets. Cruising stolen skin
to Prospect, where our seven plant jazz in.
Mornings, boys leave high-school during
recess. Gathering at the Shovel, our pool players begin
striking matches and plans to roll down Brooklyn.
It’s dead late soon. Our seven boys filling the air in
straight methane, begin to lose their grins.
On the highway, our seven plant their blood in.
In June, the pallbearers carried seven coffins
into ground to the song of organs and tearing kin.
At Bay Ridge, our seven planted bullets in.
Now, our Midnight Boys roll down in Brooklyn.
Street UniformAnes/N.S. Ahmed
91
When I think of leaving,
ED,
I think of darkness, shadows
Everything in between
With nothing less peering through my bones
I think about how you kept my secrets
Pushed me to do my best
You taught me how not to act in a moronic way
I think about my life and how much would have changed
How lonely I would feel
So scared of the darkness peering in
I think I am ready to let go
Of how tight
you make me hold you,
ED,
But at the same time
I know we have to say
Goodbye
And yet I don’t want to
I’m scared
The only thing that makes sense to me,
ED,
Is that
You are what makes me real
And as much as
We need to say
Goodbye
I just Can’t
Yet
Goodbye my lonelyDiana Harman
92
We, as people, want a lot from life, though we don’t exactly deserve it.We want our feelings to be reciprocated,We want it to be true that if someone we love dies, they’re still with us no matter what.We want to believe that we are good people, and that we love everyone the same.But do we? Can we really sit here and say that all the love we give is real? Genuine?If you say yes, you’re a liar.Now watch how easily you get called out on it.
Jewish tradition states that one is considered a mourner when one of eight people dies: father, mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, son, or daughter.This is accurate, no? Seemingly relatable, but if you were once like me this does not take into consideration the far-fetched relationships we give away to those we assume we have attachment with.You believe that you love everyone who falls within those bondsBut if your mother were to die todayYou’d beg for someone else to be taken away.
Love can cause so much more than Happiness.Pain, Grief, Loss, Confusion etc.They all become factors on how you retaliate in life if you do lose love.You begin to make mistakes. Cheating, Lying, Self-Harm mentally etc. You never really become okay, You just find ways to make the pain temporarily go away You never really stop loving someone, you just find someone you love more
Healing Isn’t RealJanikaa Jackson
93
Can you sing to me
The one about not letting go,
making promises,reliving through photos.
Let me get comfortable,
I want to close my eyes first.
Ok,now start
Wait,
I’ve never heard this one before.But it’s nice.
Can I tell you something,because it’s easier
when I can’t see you
It hurts to say that, but It’s ok
I know you feel the same
Let me just lay here,a little bit longer
so you can sing to me.
One last time.
LullabyeVicky Lee
94
As I clean the lipstick stain
Off my overly used wine glass
I stare at my blank crème wall
In hopes it speaks back to me
As bare as it is
I have a better chance of speaking to
A slate of cement block
Than an actual human being
Distracted as I am
I can’t ignore the instantaneous
Shatter of glass
As it makes contact with the cold tiles
I realize something tragic
I was looking at myself the whole time
There on the frigid surface
Broken
Damaged
Impossible to glue back together
But throughout the spread of glass shards
I recognized the cause and effect
And I made a vow
To myself and my sanity
To not let anyone be distracted
Negligent
Careless
Like I was with this wine glass
Because this glass and I might be similar
But the only difference is
I am irreplaceable.
GlassLatife Lita
95
As I stare into the sun, my mind melts.
Now I’m on the floor as a puddle, floating in my feelings and surviving across their waves.
It is so placid...so calming.
This crevasse of my mind radiates my metaphoric skin.
I rest in an envelope of pleasant dreams and childhood memories, floating over the sea that is my thoughts.
Then I realize.
My mind isn’t dense— its waters are incredibly deep.
And suddenly I’m drowning, swallowed and encompassed by my own ferocious fears.
They yank at my toes, pull me down under.
And before I know it, I am succumb to darkness.
I fail to recognize my own mind.
It frightens me that it is no longer mine.
UnderIlana Iskhakova
96
I waited for you
In the place where safety enveloped
Where hope and tranquility developed
Where we found a home in each other’s arms
I waited for you
In the place where secrets unfolded
Hearts were molded
Into codependent beings
I waited for you
In the place where memories were choking
Minds no longer evoking
And faith killed us
I waited for you
And as time grew slower my heart grew more rapid
I waited in the place that saw us
live and breathe
Connect and love
Rise and fall
I waited for you
But you never came
The StairsCamila Dejesus
97
Another Tell-Tale StoryLia Hauser
terrorthat’s what it’s called
i couldn’t quite place the feelingIt’s hard to understand what it is
through all the silenceand a tad incoherent beneath the
safety of his arms
i could hear his heart beatingi never heard a heart like his before
never heard something that was mine
but it was hard to ignore the terror
when i was younger i would lay on my father’s chest
his strength was what pushed me to find some of my own
and i would just listen for what was inside
it was his big old heart that kept him going
it was scary to mehow that booming beating thing
inside of my fatherwould determine whether he lived
or died
and then years laterlaying on your chest
a different type of tranquilitysafety
and then
terrori heard it
a sound i had never heard beforethis was not my father’s heart, no,
this was much worsethis was what i lived and loved and
ached forthis was the heart that determined
whether mine would go on thumping, in his chest and in my
ears
and as each moment passedi would wonder if the next beat
would be the lastlaying there together, he smiled
down at meand mustering a smile back made
me want to crybecause i knew that his heart was mine, until the day it wouldn’t be
at all
it was beating and beating and beating
until suddenly everything else was drowned out
it felt like i was inside of himi was going deaf with the rhythm of
our “love”
and so it goes:another tell-tale story
about a different man’s heart
98
Our Voices Rachel Augustin
Our voices, united,
capture the essence of thinking critically
Our voices, united,
foster comprehension of expressive ideas, theories, and intricate conclusions
Our voices, united,
communicate knowledgeable truths and concrete opinions
Our voices, united,
represent our collegiate community entirely
Our voices, united,
embody our point of view, simple and complex perspectives about life
Our voices, united,
echo the diversity in our university
Our voices, united,
dictated by a devoted faculty resonate continually
Our voices, united,
lead us to future objectives, where like minds think alike
Our voices, united,
exude unity
99
Secret WishJohnny Lawrence
Staring at the stars
Eyes wide open
Hands together
Up to my chest
You
wonder
what
is
on
my
mind
Gazing at the dark sky
Impatient for a shooting star
To make a wish
I cannot tell you
Until
it
comes
true
100
SpringCharlene Catalano
The rain made contact with the charcoal ground
As the season of spring greeted the town
The school bells rang
As the bluebirds sang
A story that was told before
When summer’s warmth meets winter’s core
101