Stained
Glass Window
Allie
Hastings
I
think what is perhaps most powerful
Is
that one single thing
Can
instantly make you think of a certain person
And
this memory will stick with you forever.
It
doesn’t even matter how much
Time
has passed.
It
could be a few months,
A
year,
Or
decades later.
You’ll
be in the car,
And
a song will come on the radio
Or
you’ll be on a date with someone new,
Watching
a scene in a movie.
You’ll
hear the sound of ocean waves,
Feel
the breeze of a cool summer morning,
Or
pass a stranger in a bookstore
And
your mind will transport back
To
a specific moment of the past,
A
time signified by the presence
Of
that one person,
And
all the emotions you’ve kept bottled up inside
Will
nestle beside your heart again,
Illuminating
the images of a story
Embedded
deep within your soul.
Bonnie
George
Rosatone
Let’s
rob the bank
Watch
the cameras, they are everywhere.
Be
mindful of our hostages, keep them in check.
Don’t
shoot the damn teller.
Be
patient with the vault, it will take time.
Listen
for sirens.
Listen
for anything.
Please
don’t shoot my goddamn teller.
Make
sure you have all the money, every dollar.
Now
go buy yourself something nice.
And
close the vault on your way out.
3
Ana
Tunberg
It’s
distinct
Smells
Fresh
plant breeze Not quite, it’s too early Water
From
melting ice and snow
Sights
Sun
rays
Hit
my pupils
Closer
A
yellow filter
Sounds
More
chatter
Birds,
bees, bugs, my thoughts
My
inner music
Wakes
up
Feeling
Hug
of the breeze
Not
a punch
Lighter,
easier steps
Corners
of mouths
Face
upwards
Bigger
breaths
Less
resistant lungs
Salt
on my fingertips
Soul
feelings
Curiosity
Hope
Ambition
Life
is a movie
Instead
of reality
The
emotional zenith
The
seasonal convalescence The vernal equinox
Facial
Awareness
Brittany
Rogers
It
is sweet and supple and i love to write, i hate to read.
The
outline of a face: the dark, cloudy eyes connected to thin lines of
brows, sloping down into the triangle noses.
People
have these faces, you see, they wear their circles of blush and
crooked teeth like gravestones every day. Pillows of pink lips and
ears that protrude from their heads like tumors. Freckles that stab
into foreheads and leave them
to
bleed. Thick hair raised from dry scalps. Faces that tell stories
and hear sounds. Love and bleed and dance. It’s incredible—lips
that hum and noses that run. Eyes that blink, blink until the tears
come out or the sleep overtakes them. Brows that raise and lower
like curtains to a play you sat through when you were ten. Cheeks
that blush and become apples. Brains that think and don’t.
4
Sophie
Bubrick
I
drew out my letter in a thick ink. An ink so thick that you could
feel my mission pouring out of me. The letters came out in a rampage
of cursive, every “i” dotted and every “t” crossed at
astonishing speed. His train left at midnight.
I
had to write faster. And as I did, I could remember every small
insignificant detail about our past, but couldn’t seem to remember
the important moments. I remember the way my hands clutched the side
of my blue floral skirt that night in the kitchen. His hair was a
mess, work shirt unbuttoned at the collar, crimson red tie loosened
and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. If a neighbor were to have
walked by our window that warm summer evening, they would have
thought he was an alcoholic. He was nothing of the sort. He was lost
in his work.
My
room is dimly lit with two candles. One next to me and my paper and
the other on the mantle of the bedroom fireplace behind me. I like to
write in front of my dresser mirror because it is only in moments
like these where I look up and find a vulnerable visage staring back.
A
small tear runs steadily from my eye. It is stained black from the
makeup I paint myself with. I wear my dark red velvet gown. I don’t
have plans tonight. But I sit perfectly straight on my cushioned
dressing chair as if I were the Queen of England herself.
