Sometimes I wish I was Lilac flowers bundled together with twine White fluffy cardigan in a field of daisies Reading Jane Austen with the gold lined porcelain tea set beside me Or rather maybe sipping Earl Grey tea Studying Thoreau in a dimly lit coffee shop The smell of Vermont swirling around
In the 90’s my Tia wore her brown glazed lip, gold chains, baggy pants to school; she was called a ghetto, dirty– CHOLA. Now reflected on paler skin. Now its big gold hoops are cute. Now being brunette is trendy. When did slick hair in a bun, big gold hoops, and Kiley’s gloss drip […
Smoldering Dreams — a golden shovel poem after Robert Frost, author of Bond and Free Please, don’t cast your love on me, I fear I’ll splinter. Why has the wide-open country withered to earth and bone. To circling walls. To snow — smothering that which ventures out. A dream she
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 Lindsay Jankowski Cookbook for life Imagine life came with a cookbook, chock full of suggestions and answers to all of life’s problems. Unsure how to approach your mom about changing your career? Consult page 552 on “mother-daughter conflict” for a step-by-step list. Think you’re going
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
