By: Samantha McKeever Part of me wanted to follow the wind as it blew  through the train station into some far-off place  around the street bend. The rest of me, halfheartedly existing in something you could call the present,   wanted to stay right in this spot. I watched myself,  pathetically, from the other side of the tracks: using  ghosts as anchors in the sea of time, crying only in  dark rooms and in the rain, wearing too-strong  perfume to mask the scent of shadows, fo

By: Hansuja Kandadi I’ve been looking at the moon closer,  It looked a little different back home, I’ve noticed.  Not the shape nor the color,  Just something of the way, it shimmered.  Don’t misunderstand,  It glows ever so beautifully.  Upon this foreign land,  It couldn’t have shined more brightly.  But there is something missing,  Something only I’ve seen.   Nobody else can know,  Nobody else but me.  Perhaps it’s because I’m the same as the moon,   I shine brighter now,

In memory of my best friend  by George Brown When they glance at this small soul  the rips seem like your smile.  So in the night when  I do the mending,  with twine, matches,  needle, sage,  a red pen, a few lashes,  I sew shut the rips  as you are far gone  and should not be here;  with the morning, the rips  have grown, they leer;  the bloodied body of the past  stitched to an abomination,  looking on as I pass  I see you there, everywhere –  so I stop to gawk  at this pas

Graphic by Josie Zevin Long ago, Crouched in a final goodbye, I swallowed a spoonful of Nesquik to coat my lips In childlike tenderness, one last time. My tongue: Slick with bliss and nostalgia. My gaping jaws: Coiled in the sweet fluency of my mother’s knitted love. The sugar melts to a plain and bitter angst, but A warm body reaches through, Pockets of love hidden in the space between: A feathered neck seeking my attention. Too little, too late. The stale and quiet halls, C

By Zoe Seppi It takes your whole cotton-filled head to prove to yourself that you don’t have to be alone with sunken-in teeth and atmospheric eyelids, you steel yourself for the hunter’s final blow, not for lack of trying, but you’re so bent over with your own frustration you can’t see the swing of the boot kicking you down and the lick of the steel-capped shoe  still reads as good-natured attention. Drown yourself in someone else’s skin, placate your stutter between the lini

By McKenna Laird Graphic by Melissa Lemieux Jaywalker, I stood too close to the curb one too many times, I am no local. Vehicle wheels splashed me, my ankles thick with rubber, I don’t like wet, I prefer to stay dry, hold your jellyfish, hold your umbrella over your knees, my sweater is drenched the worms stick slick to my limbs I hate it when it rains. Rain, seawater, I don’t like wet either, the drops collect on my console, droopy tears migrating south the salt on my teeth,

By Keira Footer But it’s fun to play pretend  so I smile when you hug me  and kiss the top of my head. I know I shouldn’t be here.  I know this isn’t right,  yet I look the other way  despite what’s clearly in sight.  This might end in disaster, just like it has before,  but that’s so unimportant  when you leave me wanting more.  I miss you when you’re not around  and I miss you when you’re here,  cause you’re not the guy I once knew and how you feel isn’t clear.  So I’ll sta

By Isabel Sharma i.  To my sister: as you grow old, as you grow real, as you touch the soul of the earth with your bright color and sweet laugh. To my grandmother: as you grow old, as your voice softens, but your words remain strong, as you rest with us like we did with you when we were too young to hold ourselves. To my mother: as you grow old, as you lift us up while the earth pushes harder against your tired bones, as you watch your children become what you taught them to

By Gabriel Martins I see the ocean and fall in love. Closing my eyes, I can feel her spray kiss my nose, like perfume. White foam, silence that comes only after the rumbles of rocks. The lap, lap, lap of the planet, coming, and retreating. You know, those who drown in it don’t die from the lack of air, but from salt which tears apart their lungs. The fact that its mass, connecting life on every corner of the world, is made of something we need to survive; yet, its essence kil

By Malia Waddles Graphic by Rhiannon Li My sweet, sweet indigo, I breathe you soft and Hold you tight until I can feel your roots beating Through the tangled pulse of mine. Your love is warm, And your grief is richly fragrant— Light, yet bold and daring. Give me a taste and Let us sink in sodden soil Under a darkened and damned sky. Together, We’ll nurture our very own Marigold star.