WELCOME TO OPUS LITERARY & ARTS MAGAZINE
WELCOME TO OPUS LITERARY & ARTS MAGAZINE

Trimmed branches bleed ice, Gray grass murmurs, discontent. Clouded dome white weeps.   Rippled water Reality distorted. Walking back from class.   Small in a big pond Standing at a puddle’s edge Sees upside-down world.   Branches together Pointing, reaching, kissing tips Like cathedral doors.

Alice, noun; 1. There was a sparrow clasped on the hem of her gray shirt; flecks of orange in a brown braid trailing down; deep eyes; brown, and not at all cursory;around the lengths of the grace and proportion was com•plex•ion, curvature and collarbone; 2. hiding between ribs, an idea; a neck:

Today, We stand on a stage Held up by our mothers, fathers, ancestors, Being watched by those to come. Maita Baba, Maita Amai, Maita Madzitateguru…   Gone are the days, When other hands covered our mouths, Other voices told our stories, Other pens drew black and white lines on our maps That separ

THE FACES BEHIND THE MAGAZINE

By Gabrielle Crone            Only a hillbilly would bring their injured dog to the vet using twine as a leash.  At least that’s what our vet, Westley, announced when he saw my grandpa, Charles Bailey, in the lobby of the clinic twine leash in hand.  Gizmo had injured his paw, most [&helli

By Fara Ling Ah Ma,        A few weeks ago, I realized I have never written Ah Ma a letter. That means I have never told Ah Ma I love you. There’s no way to say it in Hokkien, Ah Ma’s mother tongue. Forcing the syllables wa ai lu to sit next to […]

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