Elysian
AU's Literary Magazine
Volume 5, Issue 1
Poetry
a long time ago
Brooke Dowd
the rink is packed.
kids, some running, some rolling, pass by
the lights flash briefly,
bathing us in a neon glow
before splashing on others in the crowd
the pop songs with a thousand plays get a dozen more
i take a seat to slip on my own skates
as a kid, you don’t think about the last person to wear them
only about the fun you’re going to have
i push myself up slowly, my laces tied with two bunny ears
and roll on the carpet, toward the floor
the plastic wheels clack on the smooth surface,
a teenager wooshes by, arms linked with another
i watch as they glide across the rink
trying to look effortless
i hold to the wall, pulling myself along
until i’m brave enough to let go
when i do, i look up, searching the crowd for my mom
she looks at me and i smile, watch this
i begin to pick up speed, getting closer to the inside track
i go around once
twice
as a kid
you don’t think about the monotony of it
or that this is what freedom looks like
Autumn, My Love!
Leeba Joseph
Autumn, why do you sprint?
Let’s walk.
The way lovers walk –
Slowly, intimately.
Holding hands and breathing each other’s scent.
Let’s walk,
Mindfully, peacefully –
Footsteps in sync,
Breath mists mingling,
Enjoying
Each other’s company.
Let’s walk,
Let my eyes soak
The pigments.
Let me imprint them in segments –
Snapshots of red berries and
Dances of birds between yellow leaves.
Let me store them
In a secret place.
When my vision fails
And the world becomes
Dark and grey and bleak,
When my mind wails
For the ray of light,
Let me take those segments
And weave
A quilt
Of comfort.
Let us stay under the covers
And share the warmth
Of the fiery trees and orange embers.
Let us wrap
Ourselves in color
And speak,
Our language of love.
Beauty
Angie Lopez
I wish I didn’t let my heart break so soon
So young
Still soft
Better if it was made of cartilage
Let the surgeon mold it
Give it a lift
Better to pinch and squeeze
Into the artificial
Beauty standards are promising
To make my heart plastic
To live for ever
For ever
To melt under heat but never shatter
Just twist and fold
And fold
And fold
Until my heart is a spiraling
Night
Shiny brand new heart
Smells of black ice
Clean and fake
My heart will never break
Even as it’s trashed in a landfill miles and miles under some suburban golf course
My heart will never shatter
I have polyester in my lungs and they will
Never shatter
I will never break
I will melt but I won’t scatter
Into the breeze of a summer
Autumn
Spring day
I will not shatter
At least my heart won’t
I’ll wither
And wilt
Rot under humid skies
The worms will suck the marrow out of my bones
The fungi
Will hold my body close
Will live inside the dead
Feed and share
Pass my body
Across the table
Feed and share
But the heart will stay the same
Folding
Folding
Folding
No more that twenty times
Connections Against Crows
Bridget Tully
The world is full of crows
But nobody is ever alone.
If people remind each other
Crows caw their own light.
Nobody will ever be alone
If they have friends to contact.
Crows caw their own light
Through the connections one makes.
If one contacts their friends
They will gain company.
Through the connections one makes
Stars glow in their minds.
One will gain company
To defeat the world’s crows.
Stars glow in their minds
As they stand in black woods.
To defeat the world’s crows
People hold each other’s hands.
As they stand in black woods
Sunlight shines through dead trees.
December's Train
Freddy Munoz-Miranda
5PM on a Thursday evening, I met you
Awaiting the train, we began to converse
Looking at you, I couldn’t believe my eyes
My smile visible through my mask
When I said I wasn’t shy, that was a lie
The train finally arrived
We sat in the quiet car
The sound of my heart beat could be heard
“You never watched pitch perfect!?”
Looking at you, I lost my voice
And so we watched your favorite movies
As the train took us to the city
Inside the museum, your eyes laid on all the paintings
My eyes only laid on you
Life painted a masterpiece in front of me
Your smile being able to color anybody's day
We will paint our future someday
You, me and our never ending love
Walking back to the station, I learned more about you
Each step, each day that passed, I fell harder for you
Three months later, under the gloomy sky
Looking at you, I found my voice to finally say
“Will you be mine?” as the rain came down
“Yes” shined through, life has been colorful ever since then
5PM on a Thursday evening, I met you my love
Awaiting our train to Chicago, we began to converse
Through each laugh, each smile, our love grows throughout each mile
Our destination getting closer by the day
Each stop making our love stronger
I Love Lucy, the girl from December’s train
Elevator Silence
Dalin Johnson
I wonder if we’ll talk this time, or if
we’ll act like we’re not there.
I wonder which I even prefer today. Quiet or
pretending to be interested in the weather.
I could act like I’m not here, but
we’re both painfully aware that I am.
Should I be quiet or pretend to be interesting?
Before I can decide, we stop.
We’re both painfully aware of the other’s presence.
And I’m sure they’re thinking I’m impolite, but
before we decide what to do, the doors open.
Just when I think of something to say.
I’m sure they thought I was impolite, but
maybe they thought nothing at all.
Maybe they couldn’t think of anything to say.
I don’t blame them. I’m the same way.
Hopefully, they thought nothing at all, but
I wonder which I even prefer today.
I don’t blame them. I wish I wasn’t this way.
I do wonder if we’ll talk next time.
Endure
Danielle Moy
High speed
I’m running toward something
I blink
But it grows more distant
My legs burn
My breaths waver
I’m almost there
So close
I can feel the relief
One more burst
And I’m free
I reach out
I’m lost once again
Shadows darken
The sun grows dim
Can’t catch my breath
Can’t go any farther
How much longer will I endure?
Till I’m broken-down to pieces
Till I bleed my sweat and tears
It’s too much
I can’t go on
Don’t have me endure this any longer
Release me from this revolving door
Let go of my mind
I want to breathe again
I’m lost once again
Shadows darken
The sun grows dim
Can’t catch my breath
Can’t go any farther
How much longer will I endure?
Till I’m broken-down to pieces
Till I bleed my sweat and tears
It’s too much
I can’t go on
I can’t endure this
Finding the Drain
Mia Woltman
“Remember?” A question.
I see them, the tears.
I imagine the basement in my mind
flooding with your despair.
I prepare.
I’ve been trying,
to remember, of course.
But the weight, the strain.
The noise.
No poise.
Up to my knees.
My chin, your hands.
Your pulse, my own.
In tune despite everything.
I try,
shiver at goodbye.
My waist.
“Look at me.” A whisper.
I flail in the two seas,
but the water is blue, warm, kind.
I rest.
Life’s a test.
Of course. The drain. Of course.
Golden Caged Dreams
Anahi Troncoso
I am from uncarpeted floors and one-bedroom apartments.
The cold nights and crowded spaces.
I am old and used rags for clothes and thrifted toys.
Bears with no eyes and dolls with no arms.
I am from rewinding old movie discs
To forget there was no cable.
I am from hardworking teen parents.
Teen parents with sacrifices and hardships.
I am from my father’s worn-out work boots and dirty hands.
I am from my mother’s button up shirts and skirts.
I am from the streets that aren’t safe after sundown.
Where sirens ring all night and children can’t play.
But it was better than where my parents came from.
I am from the sweat and tears of my parents.
I am from the laughs and happiness of my parents.
I am also the pride and joy of my parents.
I will be the success of my parents.
Her Language
Shelbi Duster
her eyes
is a love note
the way they look me
up, and
d
o
w
n
the way her pupils weave their way into words
half-lidded stares punctuate the lines
her eyebrows furrow and the letters bolden
i cannot help
but to look into the color of her eyes
and decipher the dark brown hues
until i can grasp
her sweet devotion in my mind.
Hunting Trial
Nathan Yockey
The winding trail holds like a spell.
Such is the covenant between an explorer and the mountain path,
bound by forest hymns that grab hold the first step through the gates to the old growth gallows.
Etch your signature, scrape in stone with metal boot bottoms
then pass ribbons adorned on outstretched arms whispering, “right this way”.
Lured by promises led to a fabled forest bounty.
Hallowed spirits beam from trail markers,hatchet notches and rotten mossy string.
A genealogy of jaded wanderers;
pioneers, trappers, and hunters seduced by the same sacramental prize.
Shades of orange fade like boot prints washed away.
Branches bend around ribbon tourniquets
boy scout knots and logger’s nooses urging,“turn back”.
Spoken by souls lost to the fog with crippled knees and broken backbones.
Who wandered over intersecting trails back and forth
drenched by rainstorms into maddening hypothermia
squeezed by underbrush like a straitjacket
held in muskeg mud like a vice.
Until they are mangled by the trail,
doomed to rocking chairs, blank cataract stares,
and mumblings of faded glory.
Back and forth, back and forth.
Bound by forest hymns that grab hold the first step through the gates to the old growth gallows,
such is the covenant between an explorer and the mountain path.
The winding trail holds like a spell.
Is a Lion Still a Lion if it Never Roars?
Darryl Harris
An outcast to the pack
That powerful sound never heard before
It was missing a couple things
Like a mansion without a floor
Low ceilings and restricted doors
Caged in…the lion is no more
Domesticated
Image perpetuated
By those afraid of its mighty sound
Roar lion!
Roar with conviction and be proud
Proud to be a lion
It Fades...
Brooke Dowd
they say,
like young love,
the anger,
it will fade
maybe like brand new blue jeans
after a long year of wear.
or like the vibrant colors of a bumper sticker,
after miles of road.
it will fade.
i want this to stop hurting
and the nightmares to haunt someone else
and for me to be myself
but i want the anger too.
even if it hurts.
who will know what he didn’t do
and who will know
why i am
if it fades…
i don't want to forget
the ways i've been damaged
and i don't want the scars i carry
to mean nothing
but they’re right.
it will fade.
and i won’t notice.
because it won’t hurt anymore.
La Belle Fille
Emma Fisher
Bonjour, comment vas-tu?
J’ai te vu asseoir dans le café.
Tu as bu une latte.
Et tu as ete tres belle.
Comment-vas tu aujord’hui? Tu semble tres seul.
Je peux m’asseoir avec toi.
Et je peux brosser tes cheveux.
Je suis desolee, mon chou.
Je suis tres nerveuse.
C’est vrai, j’adore votre sourire.
Veut-tu aller une rendevous?
Laws of Emotion
Angie Lopez
I sit over the worry I’ve churned
Mixed the love and hate
Watched it burn
I was never the best at chemistry
Failed at keeping track of all the ways
Things could catch flame
So I just saw it
Tip over and spill
Curdled on the new counter top
The one you sat me down and kissed me
A long winded kiss
The ones you see on TV
God how I wished you’d stayed
Even as I pleaded you away
But you must have felt it
The hesitation at my fingertips
My eyes looking past you
And how far apart we were
At the end of the day
Maybe it was physics not chemistry
That I failed to understand
Maybe our relationship was just another
Experiment
Of how a man and a woman are meant
To love
One my mind can still not understand
Left
Robert McDonald
We used to sit down along the marble counters
And eat Japanese food together from that little place in the mall
He would call it “sai-ku” or “shy-ku” to try to get a laugh
I thought it sounded insensitive
He smiled anyway, oblivious to the feelings of others
Whether I told him about them or not.
We would often go to places like that after some hard work
Lifting or carrying or building for someone
He said it was to instill good work ethic
But when I worked to sweat he’d say
“I’m disappointed in you”
And I would call my mother
And for once be needed for something.
Sometimes I wonder about him
If he is doing well, if he thinks of me
He doesn’t
At least not fondly
If he still has that arcade machine,
I wonder if he misses our games of Mr. Do and Bagman
His interests were only shared with me
When it felt like the only way to reach me
Maybe someday I can visit again
And we’ll have a heart-to-heart
But I know that just isn’t going to happen
Because if I’ve learned anything,
It’s that he is oblivious to the feelings of others.
He’ll hold things out of reach, one by one
Until I have replaced all of these things with things of my own
And no longer need him.
I would like to return to Sarku one day
But I think I would eat at the marble counters alone
Unless
Of course
He figures out why I left.
Love Her
Haley Maves
She was beautiful all on her own.
A tragedy in her own eyes.
Wore gold jewelry to distract from her big brown eyes.
Maltodextrin, Dextrose, Dysphoria
Ian Melgoza
If my heart was a mirror I’d stare into that reflection
until I was convinced that the person looking back at me is me but the
taffy that makes up my face warps and shifts, hints of watermelon or cherry,
blue raspberry maybe
But right now I’m feeling more like that pale white mystery Airhead
and if someone could help me guess the flavor maybe we can split the prize money
I love sour gummies but right now my gums are bleeding
Citric acid feeding hidden desires to peel away at what makes me,
burning away what feels like rough, dead skin and
maybe then, I will love myself
If only my body were molded by clay, I could smooth
out the grooves and edges that catch at my fingertips,
I could form and forge a frame I’m happy with
If only I were malleable like silicone,
then I would feel at home in my own skin.
Maria From the Light
Anahi Troncoso
You were my sunshine,
Like the sunshine that would glare into my eyes while I drove.
Like the sunshine that would hurt my skin when I had no sunscreen.
But also, the sunshine brightened a depressing winter day.
Your kisses were my worst enemy,
Your kisses were like a snail leaving trails
As it walked along the sand.
So slimy, sticky, and slow.
You would sing as loud as a bird chirping at 6 in the morning.
It was annoying and I wish you would stop
But now it’s my favorite sound in my clouds of memories.
As I visit your grave, I wish I could see the clock,
The clock that didn’t want to stop for us,
like a hurricane that came with no warning.
Ruining homes and lives as it happened.
And I wish the ground would swallow me whole from underneath my feet
Just so I could feel close to you again.
Ocean
Angie Lopez
Midwest sea
I see you
I’ll wave back as
I listen to the Ocean
Place my ear next to the radio
See I lack self control
I keep hurting what I can’t hold
Can’t hear the dog barking
Just white noise
It’s just a dream
A hazy yellow pinkish kind of dream
Beautiful and messy
Can’t swim
No matter the stroke
Of fingers to lips
I can’t stay quiet
No matter how late
Words escape
Thoughts
Provoking
me
No one to tell
Nobody to listen to
Just background noise
No different from the chirping birds
Wallowing trees
Or summer cicadas
I’m no more a person
Than I am plot
Or maybe it's inverted
I can’t say
I understand
This corn maze
It’s never ending
All I can do
Climb up
Stand behind the scarecrow
Taking in the same
Midwest sea
On the Road
Angela Cabalang
Lightning strikes like a heart monitor screen.
The jagged line cuts across the dash
and into the depths of night. Driving aimlessly
through space, the vehicle is made victim.
Gripped steering wheel while the car shakes
violently with the wind. Rain attacks the gla1ss
shield protecting its passengers from the flood
outside. Prayers scattered, Fate suspended—
The travelers look into one another with wide eyes.
Holding each other hand in hand. Chests thumping
to the beat of nature’s invisible dance.
Organ Legs
Tanner Hurd
The melodies echo throughout the hall.
Gold covers the walls and the ceiling.
Thousands of people get up from their seats
And cheer for the organ player’s songs.
Years later, the player has gone away.
The organ knows not where he may be.
Neither does the organ know where it is,
Sitting alone, in a cold, dark room.
The organ’s keys are violently ripped
Out, making disastrous noises.
Gold pipes are pulled off, screeching as they scrape
Against the wooden exterior.
Out comes the axe, littered with golden rust
Ready to attack the final piece.
Chop. Chop. Chop. Off comes all four sturdy legs
Laying alone on the cold, stone ground.
What are the legs to do now? They cannot
Make music, the keys were what did that.
They are now alone in a cardboard box
Awaiting their unknowable fate.
Golden light shines as the box is opened.
A curious girl looks at the legs,
With a head full of imagination.
What could she possibly do with them?
Her golden hair waves as she runs around
Thinking of what to do with these new
Treasures. Then she drops one on the pavement.
Her ears perk up, she knows what to do.
The girl begins to hit one leg against
Another, making a loud banging
Sound. Her parents tell her to be quiet,
But the organ legs are ecstatic.
Piecemeal
Robert McDonald
Piecemeal pieces of my mind press hard on my temples
Until eventually my head’s full to bursting
And I shape them with keys that unlock the floodgates to release them into themselves.
These pieces of my piecemeal mind live about themselves
But not in a little town built for them to live in
A little town built around them as their incorporeal forms stepped into bodies found and kept.
I know what they are sometimes
But sometimes I reconsider
And am forced to once again ponder their ponderings and think on their thoughts.
With each piece that is born a piece of me is willingly lost
Yet in spite of the pain of missing pieces
I find my piecemeal loss to be rewarding and relish in the simplification of myself.
The town’s church worships and condemns these pieces of me
Not to call some righteous and others sinful
But to champion each piecemeal piece as the glorious piece of flawed divinity inside of them.
They live in their little town and speak, act, play roles with one another
But sometimes they find roles that are not pieces of me
And they’re forced to try something new that I might never have dreamed on my own.
With this, I find others who share my piecemeal nature
And suddenly without them
I find that I cannot continue to be the one containing multitudes that I fancy myself.
Those other old gods present their own creations
And though some parts I don’t recognize
I still find myself staring back in pieces of their piecemeal pieces.
My piecemeal multitudes live in their little town
And in pain and beauty
They find meaning that I collectively could not discern in myself.
I am their slumbering god, their every whim and the fabric of their reality shaped by my dreams
But one day I fear that this dream will end, whether of my own volition or not,
And so the piecemeal pieces of my mind will know peace.
Placeholder
Angie Lopez
I think my anxiety is more yours
than mine
I’ll hold it for you though
Until you’re ready to move on,
I’ll hold it,
I know it’s a heavy burden
Love.
Oh but I wish
You lived less recklessly
You don’t care what happens to you,
Or how your consequences fall on to me
And you didn’t ask for my help
But I know you blame me regardless
For mishandling your heart
I’ve killed plenty of darlings,
plenty of blooming loves before their time,
Before they could decorate my heart like they do my mind
I don’t think I’ll love again until you do
You’ve taught me to
Starve myself of intimacy until you’ve had your fill.
But it’s okay
I don’t feel the hunger pains anymore.
I’ll be the backup you,
The extension of the person you no longer are
At least in your dreams,
A placeholder until you’re ready to turn the page.
Oh forgetful mother
Please don’t sigh
I’m not yours and you’re not mine
And I’ll never stop thinking of you
Even when you are out of sight
No matter how hard I try.
Plaid Burgundy Skirt
Angela Cabalang
I came across my plaid burgundy skirt
in the closet today. Feeling the fabric,
I remembered putting one on every morning
and laying one out every night.
My index finger traced the lines
that covered my skin for more than a decade
and grazed the kneecap sitting in church.
Various shades of wine and cement
I decided to try on this piece of clothing
to see if it still fits my figure.
Even with the button in its place
I had enough room to breathe.
But what I saw in the mirror
was a muddled image of a creature
wearing this plaid burgundy skirt.
A skeleton of a school girl held together
by its sewing.
Prince of Wales - An Ode to Lotus Eaters
Nathan Yockey
Southeast winds and Sitka spruce trees spread
seeds of complacency.
Water of icy waves blends the days
storms drain, rains shift the island sand.
Feet frolic through fruits of lotus,
dance with deer, wrestle black bears, swim with salmon.
Drift and float down the river flow, while seeds of muskeg tea grow,
no outside sun to aid in the mountain shade,
thoughts of a return to Ithica fade, tainted by the flaccid flower.
“Stay a while” whisper the rocks and leaves.
Odysseus is long gone, stone ships have since rowed away,
take your fill from the trough of the soulless utopia.
Blissfully indulge in ignorant indifference,
no ends beyond one’s own recompense
strip desire, bathe in pedals.
Oblivious that tomorrow will start without you.
Rhyme or Reason
Robert McDonald
How do I manage to feel down
when everything goes well?
There is no rhyme or reason
to this full-yet-empty cell.
Its bars aren’t cold, its cot not hard —
it’s more like a hotel.
It has amenities galore
and should be noted swell.
Yet here the problem lies inside;
it’s pleasant for a spell,
but model inmates must behave
and wear a warmer shell.
The question rises: “Then, what if
inmates tried to rebel?”
Those inmates only have concrete
upon which they may dwell.
Normalcy must not break loose —
so little I can tell.
But how’d I manage to feel down
when everything goes well?
Roadkill
Brooke Dowd
driving down route 31
headed to work
the music volume climbs and the muffler cries
as my foot romps the pedal, speeding up
i need to go faster because i can
because slowing down means i’m not working
im not learning,
im not doing anything,
slowing down means stopping
thunk.
in a split second
a rabbit bounds out of the tall grass
growing along the side of the road
onto the hard concrete
the rabbit hops again but it never stood a chance
it knows to hide when a fox is lurking
but we are not foxes
and it doesn’t know what to do
so it does nothing
i watch in horror as the car ahead
maintains speed even as the creature falls to the sideline
tears blur my vision, i have to slow down
i mourn the creature’s innocence
a second passes,
and another,
the road bends
my speed increases
the music climbs
and the rabbit is left behind
Shower
Alana Steele
i can’t shower on bad days
i’ll wash myself
1...2...3...4...5...
times
until my skin is raw
just to get the feeling off me
i can’t shower on bad days
i’ll sit under the water
breaking down
1...2...3...4...5...
times
wishing to be numb
i can’t shower on bad days
i’ll drown in
1...2...3...4...5...
thoughts
of what i could have done
who i could have called
i can’t take a shower on bad days
my eyes will stream
1...2...3...4...5...
tears
i’ll sob until the water dries
then cry some more
i can’t shower on bad days
when all i want to do is wait
1...2...3...4...5...
hours
for the water to wash away
the feeling of his touch on me
Silent at the Wrong Time
Kimberly Leslie
Too many times have I taped my mouth shut,
keeping my thoughts trapped inside,
my fears and hurt locked away.
I know I should have spoken up,
revealed my fears,
but I wasn’t trained in the art of speaking.
I mistakenly thought there was nothing wrong.
It’d fade away, and it’d be fine.
But there was something wrong,
gravely wrong.
I didn’t realize it
because I thought I was fine.
Outside, I projected smiles
Rain or shine
Everyone always said that
I looked happy
with my vibrant eyes and glowing smile
I so successfully masked my fear
Because I thought no one needed to know
Of the flood drowning me
They only needed to see me smile,
I was the prepared pal, the star student, the confident child
I couldn’t let everyone down.
The fear tore me apart inside.
It was an open wound
that I neglected to treat,
and it festered and swelled into an ugly mess.
Swallowing me whole.
Drowning me.
Trapped in dark, turbulent waters dragging me down.
I should have called for help.
I should have reached for a life ring
to hold me and heal me.
But I thought that since I was still floating,
I didn’t need one.
“Everyone goes through this,” I told myself.
I should have known it was unhealthy,
these fears tearing at my soul and body.
I wasn’t fine.
Simon Says
Emma Fisher
Starving yourself is like a game of Simon Says.
Simon suggests to you,
"Don't eat and you'll be liked"
So you go on that salted ice cube diet.
The hunger overwhelms you
Encompasses you
Like an agonizing itch that won’t go away.
But that diet is supposed to work, Simon said.
Simon tells you,
"Run 10 miles, go on, keep pushing yourself"
So you run until you pass out on the floor,
sweat rushing off your face like a waterfall.
When you’re finished laying there, and the breath has been restored in your lungs,
You move on to sit ups.
With every ‘up’ and ‘down’, it feels as if your stomach is shrinking.
It tightens in pain, but you ignore it
Because that means you’re losing weight.
Simon commands to you,
"100 is a scary number. Stay away from it."
So you weigh yourself habitually to keep the number down.
The scale intimidates you
As if you are standing before a lion, looking it straight in the eyes.
Your foot quivers as you lift it up to step onto the scale.
When your entire weight is on it, you hold your breath
As the number begins to generate.
(Maybe holding your breath
Will make your weight smaller?)
A nurse told you once to stand very still on a scale
When you were younger.
But now you stand there, still as stone,
In hope of not tainting the result.
Fail to do what Simon Says?
Well, that’s not very obedient of you.
You really ate that burger last night?
Simon does not approve, Simon didn’t say.
Throw it up or he’ll make you pay.
Simon is your friend, but if you do not listen
He will carve out your insides
And make them into a necklace
For you to wear all day
To remind yourself
Of your failure.
Simon wants you to be skinny.
Skinny to the bone.
Simon wants you to be happy.
He screams at you
"You'll be happy if you are skinny"
So you choke up the food and stomach the pain.
If you do as Simon Says,
You'll live a happy life.
You'll be accepted by society.
And you will love yourself.
So do it.
Starve yourself.
Simon fucking Says.
Temple
Alana Steele
My hair is my temple
It is my symbol of freedom
A symbol of self-acceptance
But for you it is a symbol of make believe
I had a woman stop me on the street
She asked if it was real
She touched my hair before I could respond
Ma’am personal space
I had another student say it was fake
It had to be with the colors I dyed it
There’s no way the curl pattern would have survived it
Do you want to pull it
There’s no way you could do that yellow
You’ll end up bald
Really it was her lack of faith in her abilities
Are you sure you’re a black hair stylist
It gives life to me like a heartbeat
It pulses with the vibrancy of reflection
Reflecting on who I am
My hair is my temple
The Ghost of Me
Emma Fisher
Why do I bother liking you
When I know you see right through me?
You walk right past me
Like I’m a statue made of stone
Or even worse, look through me
Like I’m a window
Or a hole.
I don’t like being see-through.
I want you to know
That even though I like you
It will never show.
Because even though I am a ghost to you
You will always be dead to me.
The Gingko
Alyssa Sondgeroth
What once was clearly known is now pinned with hidden secrets
Stamped in codes of memories
Sentiments tacked on to things that are unmatching
Ginkgo trees and death
The crisp yellow leaves and lost laughter
Roots and trapped promises
Bark and the feet that once clawing up it
Cuts and the kids that yelled as they attacked the enemy's body
The incomplete names that were carved, now weathered
The Yellow Chair
Anahi Troncoso
I sat outside in the heat of the blaring sun,
Waiting for my friends to come.
I watched as the clouds walked by
In the blue sky,
Creating shapes and stories.
I sat in my yellow chair,
It was small but it was just my size.
This yellow chair was my safe place,
It brought me comfort whenever I needed it.
This yellow chair had a previous owner, and it was used up,
But I didn’t mind because yellow was my favorite color.
It helped me forget the chanting of anger coming from inside.
The silence from the static tv because the DVD stopped playing.
When I got bored, I would go sit in my yellow chair.
When I got sad, I would go sit in my yellow chair.
But as I grew older, the yellow chair got smaller.
I knew it was time to let go.
I hope someone else will now sit in the yellow chair,
And enjoy the color and shape.
And feel the comfort of the yellow chair.
Theme in Red
Robert McDonald
After Carl Sandburg’s “Theme in Yellow”
I paint the skull
With stretches of muscle
Torn asunder.
The world is frigid
As the chill down your spine
In the morning, but
It is a baked apple pie by midday.
Some call me “devil-worship”
And cast crimson hexes upon me.
I am a haunting, suppressed
Memory just as much as
A longing for hallowed, non-cyclical rebirth;
You know better than anyone
We are all fools.
Thick Skin
Mia Woltman
Forever my thick skin made me a stray,
Tiptoes on coals,
caused loved ones to shy away.
Except you,
who stayed until the day
when in your eyes,
my smeared reflection
showed my imperfection.
In your blue mist, I learned the truth,
the reason for the shying, all the gentle trying.
In your eyes, the shine of my skin.
No thickness,
no strength.
I was a glass girl who could shatter at
any
given
moment,
scrape anyone with my jagged smile,
trick anyone with my cutting style.
When you looked at me,
you saw my lonely plea.
I was lost in the mirror,
fragileness now nearer.
Piece by piece,
shard by shard,
I cracked at the stress.
Couldn’t fuse the glass.
Your hands, severed.
Couldn’t hold me together,
Your heart, so weathered.
Scars forever.
I was a glass girl.
Weight
Leslie Gomez
I reach for my clothes, no longer delighted
I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t see it
I step on the scale as it flashes with a verdict
Ticking down, every two weeks there it goes
I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t see it
Lower, and lower. I didn’t want to admit
Ticking down. Every two weeks there it goes
Now it feels real. It’s no longer just in my brain
lower, and lower. I didn’t want to admit
My mind changes. I need to accept it
Now it feels real. It’s no longer just in my brain
The scale no longer tips back and forth. It takes work
My mind changes. I need to accept it
I reach for my clothes, no longer delighted
A healthy balance a normal life. It takes work
I step on the scale as it flashes with the final verdict
Wilkinson Hall
Madalynn Sedgwick
One of the three oldest buildings on campus,
Built-in 1912,
Just nineteen years after its establishment.
That same year we moved to Aurora,
Where we have been ever since.
The ancient architecture of the hall,
Telling a story just outside its walls.
The red clay slate roof,
Discolored from the decades.
A brick chimney standing tall.
Forever bold but sadly cold,
After all,
Gas replaced coal.
It's dirty but sturdy
Dulling red brick walls
Forming a near-perfect rectangle,
Besides the alcoves
Sending away the shadows
As the sunlight shines in.
But maybe many more stories
Started inside those halls.
Housing thousands of memories
Over the centuries.
A temporary home for future teachers,
Scientists, and artists,
Politicians, and musicians,
Even doctors and actors.
No matter who walks on the grounds,
Wilkinson Hall will always be around,
Telling its story
To whoever will stop,
Sit, and
Listen.
You
Alana Steele
I knew I was fucked.
I was drawn to You
like a reflection to a mirror.
My soul cried out for You
like thunder called lightning.
When You touched me
my stomach fluttered
like a cave of frightened bats.
Your touch could melt me
Like chocolate decaying in the sun.
Your words were like scriptures
only my book of language could translate.
You pulled in tighter
like a dress that hugged my curves
suffocating all the right places.
Even if You looked away
You still saw into me.
You grew on me
like thorns on a rose
I knew You would crave me
like a vampire’s need for blood.
I knew I wanted You
like a bee wanted honey.
I knew I was fucked.