on the thirty-first of october, 1517, martin luther published his ninety five theses. his protest burned into the oak doors of a candy colored righteousness.  on the third of december, 2017—oh holy night—a chapel chorus tenor in a faux dutch church fell from the graces with a nail and a hammer
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.
I pause and rewind the Tiktokker, his hands dicing an onion paper thin. There is not one hiding among the murasaki sweet potatoes I am saving in the corner of the chipped pantry shelf, shallots substitute. They hit the skillet with a sizzle, the pale purple ghosts around the pan on a slip n’ slide
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 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 […]
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 […]