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.
In imitation of “Litany of Failed Lines from Previous Poems” by Susan Nguyen We are hurricanes. I am all sighs and gasps when our lips collide. I forgive you for that time you said you didn’t want to get married but then professed me as your wife to your brother’s best friend. Y
Up is like down when I lie on my back: hang my head off the bed, stretch my legs up as high as they’ll reach on the cool wall. Hear my mom warn that the moisture from my toes will tarnish the paint. Do it anyway. Let my arms dangle down till the skin stretches […]
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 Julia Voyt Pages and pages of 12 size Times New Roman are bled across the paper feverishly, introductions and statistics under methods and conclusions. Not eating food and my bicep is smaller this week I talk faster to my family and I write, write, write. The earth outside smells different and sw
By Emma Gail Compton I made the table I eat dinner at. The wood was cheap but sturdy. The stain I chose is a dark oaky red and makes the small round table seem more expensive than it was. One could find something similar at any store, but this table, my table, I made. I […]