The Awaited Breath Grace Ye It has already been long enough
She couldn't remember the last time ... with sniffled senses a step was taken out the padded front door Timid attire latched layers of protective garments over any which openings Time would tell when the distances could close ....for now, the clarity of the open air spread a calmness in her unsettled heart
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Trust In Us Grace Ye three little branches hung onto me
like a free fiddle I sang onto the sea. My last hug was ages ago and it seems like just yesterday since ‘merica stirred. she smelt the safety of the fog One of her fellow creatures of the dark. Our patience gave out, mind the quiet — the air on our tongue Sparked with resistance Hard steel toed boots stomped against the pavement Lines and lines of armed forces encroached our peace The tears had barely dried before it Started again Bullets of rubber, bombs of tears, silent lips against cries for justice Echoed the masses Bubbly Rust And Mist Yume Igarashi Like the crowns of rough dark ocean waters,
I can appear to leap into air Dance in bubbles and flowing skirts of misty white, As I gasp, swallow only the dark threads tangling inside, Hushing me, screaming with me. Or is it I alone who is ripping my throat? Or is it not I at all, as a shell cannot speak? When bloody sunrise reeks more of dry monochrome Than a cackling silhouette of the night Jagged edges of its liquid suppleness Mock each beat of rusting life. Shattered room inside a cage of ivory bars A shadow bangs on the door, frantic, rhythmic. Do we knock because we hesitate To wonder if we are ready, if we truly want, To step inside? Do we knock because we are too eager To know that we are ready, of what we truly want? szns Marshall in the spring we watch the rain. we stay up late talking about nothing and i spend my days thinking about everything. i spend hours memorizing your faceー the way you scrunch your nose when you think, or notice a freckle i didn’t see before, a childhood scar, a birthmark. you take pictures of me everywhere. in the bath, on the couch, eating breakfast. i make a white paper flower for you and you carry it in your wallet. at night i dream of white marble and pink satin.
in the summer, we walk in the park. the sun floats on your skin like an airy kiss, filtered through layers of round leaves. your camera lies forgotten in your desk and you spend more time working on your laptop than you ever did before. you don’t trust me with your facial expressions anymore. i buy a red silk dress, hoping the sight of my shoulders in the thin straps will bring it back. at night i dream of yellow wilting flowers with big, wide petals. in the fall, you leave. we don’t talk much in the last few weeks. your expressions come backー hewn from the dark ungraceful stone of annoyance and indifference. i go to the park and write poems about orange leaves and the birds leaving for winter. the ink is warped from the thick drops that i pretend are rain. one day i come back to an empty house and a crumpled paper flower in the trash can. at night i dream of stifling grey clouds forcing themselves down my throat. in the winter, i cry. cradled by a thick blanket of snow. every tear slowly washes my mind, wiping away the slopes of your neck and the shape of your fingernails. your shampoo bottles sit on the floor of my bathtub and every morning i drink your tea that hasn’t run out yet. your favorite places become sacred temples. i clean out my closet. on the floor is a crumpled red silk dress. at night i don’t dream of anything. Purple Hydrangeas Red Carnation The pattering of rain outside the windows drove everyone inside for the day.
Well, mostly everyone. I don't know what compelled me to do it, or what 'it' even was. But here I am now, dousing myself with the rain and fog that stretched across the streets. The beads of water slipped down from my neck, and gathered in the small cup I formed with my hands out of boredom. It's nice out here, in the rain, by myself. I get to think a bit about everything, I guess. I haven't seen any flowers for a long time. It's kind of funny how I always say that I hate flowers because they're so useless, and here I was giving them out. They always seem to be happy receiving flowers for some reason. I never knew why, but I feel like it makes me happy to see them like that. I should get some more flowers soon ... I never really understood why they keep asking "what do you want?" I never wanted anything for a long time. I had what I needed after all. A warm place to live, good food to eat, and not being sick all the time. A cold shiver runs through me as the rain started to pour, drowning what little sound there was in the first place. But maybe ... just maybe, no That's being selfish. And I can't afford to be like that now. There's so much worse things going on now. I'm such a lucky person. But why ... do I feel so empty? Ah, I accidentally let go of my hands and let the water run through. Oh well, I can just cup my hands again and gather it as I wait some more. ... wait? What am I waiting for? For the rain to pass? For the next job to do? For when death finally releases me from this? I ... think I lied again. I do want something, but I don't know how to say it. I wiped away the water that was getting stuck to my eyes. It's so irritating when that happens. I already don't see well as it is. But it kept getting in no matter how hard I rubbed it away. I heard a bird chirping in the distance, and looked up to see the caller. . . . Ah the rain had already stopped a long time ago. And yet the water wouldn't get out of my eyes. Absence Jessica Jiang I heard it in the pouring rain and screeching tires.
The world cried when you left. and i felt nothing- I tasted it in burnt omelets and takeout pizzas for breakfast. My mom froze when you left. and i felt hungry- I touched it in ripped photographs and broken shards of glass. The tax collectors came when you left. and i felt scared- I saw it in the twitching antennae of the cockroaches on the glue trap. My dad left when you left. and i felt mad- I smelled it in the olive oil on your flesh and the ashes when they cremated you You smiled when you left. and i felt ... Decision Vanessa Lam “I didn’t agree to this,” Olivia says. “Um, well, you do have other options. But – come on, look.” Olivia looks and sees Lily wearing her oops-but-uh-please smile. She also has her hands clasped together just under her chin, which has the effect of squishing the cat, or maybe a kitten, who is now squirming a little behind her curtain of brown hair. It jumps down and pads over to curl up in a bag, thankfully empty, and peers up with wide eyes. “I have a choice,” Olivia reminds herself, and it’s a little grounding. She lets out an exhale. “I have a choice,” she repeats, and the world feels a little steadier. She looks at the cat again, takes in the way it looks, tries to reasonably calculate how much it would cost to take care of one. She knows there’s a general store a few blocks away that sells cat food at a decently low cost, because for some reason it’s sold next to the candy. Olivia doesn’t want to take in a cat if it will go hungry with her. It’ll feel like a failure, which has never failed to drive her to tears. There are some cardboard boxes that can probably be made to serve as a makeshift playground, and maybe some other things she can scourge up. Could she – no, she reminds herself, could they do it? Olivia crouches down, looks a little harder. Their place doesn’t forbid pets, and their neighbors, who come over every weekend for tea, have no allergies beyond their sneezing reaction to pollen. “Hey,” Lily says, clasping their hands together and drawing small circles with her thumbs. “I’m ok with it if you decide no.” She looks earnest, a little apologetic. “No,” Olivia says, and she’s surprised at the amount of conviction that comes with it. “The cat can stay.” Lily beams, and Olivia offers a tentative one back. The cat has their head raised a little out of the bag, and she wonders if the memory will stay, will remain something hopeful and warm. A little family. Pour Sonia Tan And the rain never seems to stop
The grey, cloudy sky has never felt as serene Someone is walking down the pier, umbrella in hand Just a blurred speck of blue and red under this gentle rain A nameless figure, barely visible through the fog Rain hits the water in slow, ever-expanding ripples Cars roaring down the water-drenched roads, the sound of waves Slapping the shore, over and over again And for this moment, the world is so quiet, so beautifully present. Bet. Grace Ye Your upper hand beats their lower hands to roll the die
Crooked men lounge on red playing cards Their cancerous smoke hushes out the children Big hands rolls six sick sixes on the dice I hope I’ve got some sisters who out last me They gonna tell our story Little men in big suits were on the telly Static white n’ black threads his white lies so clearly Problematic white noise hushs our issues Everything’s still more than just scenes on T.V. Stills hang on a black screened shutdowned T.V. Do You Think So Too? Irene Hao He sits in the corner of my class, not my first or my last . It's one of those boring middle-of-the-day classes everyone dozes off to.
He sits in the corner, wiggling his eyebrows at the girl in the table next to him. He's always partners with her. They're good friends. I think. He has on a sky blue hoodie, littered with cliche inspirational quotes he’d scribbled on. My favorites are "Where the shadows crawl, light is always close by" and "Nothing is perfect. I am nobody. Therefore, I am perfect." He always takes the hoodie off afterwards and stuffs it in his locker. I know because I've seen him do it. Every day. When I first heard his voice, frankly, I thought he was a she. He gave off a cool vibe, a dramatic obnoxious drag queen diva. And I wasn't wrong. First time I sucked it all in and approached him, he blew into my ear, laughed, and walked off. Second time, he approached me, and said he liked scaring me. I don't understand it. But the way he babbles, the way his smile just gets me smiling with him, I understand that part of him. The way he looks like he's always having fun, even during his science presentation, I like it. He's always smiling. I don't know if he really does, but I like to think so. Off Center Vanessa Lam It is an indistinguishable day: gray, cloudy sky and hours that feel too long. There is someone with a stroller, a child kicking their legs, asking for food. The river sloshes, the boats bob slowly, all the discarded trash bumps up against the wall then recedes. Something upsetting has happened, left you in shaky tears, spilling out water, an inkwell tipped. You want to run, sprint to the best of your ability far, far away. You want to make it to that glowing symbol, that reads PIER and a number, that attracts boats but not people. You look down, take two steps at a time, trying to make it a game, two steps in one rectangular block, and suddenly you’re there. It is cold, and your face and arms have turned red.
But now you have an accomplishment, something to counter the failure that had tipped the scales, sent liquid flying. It’ll be okay, you remind yourself. It’ll be okay. Feminist af Grace Ye She’s feeling
like stirring the ceiling We’re gonna clear up this anxiety Tell me, when our world’s falling Will she be your gravity? Feeling as right as raindrops Riding on top of this mentality Breaking the glass ceiling with her bomb stiletto class. Art of Growing Vanessa Lam “…So I moved my two dark, three-dimensional circles out of the dark, and beheld the terrifying sight of-”
Amber smiles, the corners of her lips quirking up, before she hides it with a long sip of soda. Every time James tells that particular story, he embellishes it a little more. Never to the point of being false, because James rather rigidly sticks to his belief that honesty is the best policy, but substituting in longer ways to say things. The number of ways he’s found to say that his eyes opened is frankly astonishing at this point. But the child he’s talking to and gesticulating in front of begins to stop crying. She’s looking up at him and breaking out into weak giggles every now and then, and Amber feels a rush of fondness before turning her attention back to the other children. They’re loudly gesturing, and they’ve made sure to include everyone, the way she and James have been encouraging them to do. But it seems that they were nearly done planning, as the mass of students breaks up and attends to their plants. Jake, Edward, and Maria are trying to grow a sunflower, and it’s already starting poking up from the dirt. Abigail and George are tending to marigolds. The others had beamed up at her and said it was a secret, but she had been promised that they were flowers and not trees. “So hey, everything’s okay. My teacher told me something similar when I broke a cup. We can get a new pot of soil, if you’d like, but this isn’t something that’s being graded, and we’re not upset. The most important thing is that you’re alright. Do you feel better?” The girl looks a little calmer now, and less distraught. She nods. “Alright then, wanna remind me what Ms. Amber taught us?” James asks warmly, and the girl stands up straight, with confidence, and leads him through the steps. Winter Sky Sonia Tan On the horizon of the paper-thin sky, shadow buildings fill the skyline
The sky, almost white, with just enough blue to call it grey From the window—miniscule, rolling waves, barely perceptible from the brick ledge A ship slowly wends its way downriver, leaving white, white, white in its wake The water, almost a mirror-glass, the greys and blues and whites of the winter sky Closer to the shore, the mirror breaks, rippling with skyscrapers and sea-glass green The frolicking waves beckon and tease, lurching restlessly under the icy docks Shimmering with the muted light of the clouded sun Holding a mirror-world full of mirror-skies and mirror-boats and mirror-cities and mirror-people A mirror-universe where the lines are so blurred, it’s barely a mirror at all But clear enough that the city’s outline is unmistakable Just clear enough To hold the winter sky ReVision Irene Hao The curfew for 15-year-olds in Greenwich was 8 p.m. That was an hour longer than what Annabel was used to. The driving curriculum wouldn’t be added to her schedule until next year. She saw no point in the extended time frame. Her peers have already decided to use the free time to pursue their future careers. Ian was on the afternoon junior trip to the Committee of Seniors. He had been talking about getting a spot on the Committee with anyone who would listen. It was a rather tiring way to broadcast himself, but Annabella put up with his antics nonetheless. Propaganda wasn’t the right word for his actions. Annabel liked to call it “campaigning.” It was part of the required English terms she had to memorize back in January. Though Ben discouraged any use of the word past June, Annabel still secretly used it with Ian. A strange feeling would always accompany her little act of disobedience; a rush, a skipped beat, a giddiness that she found fascinating. But Ian wasn't here now. He was on the trip. Annabel has been wandering around the Centre Circle three times. She glanced at the clock perched on the tower. 15 minutes. She had been wandering for 15 minutes. Annabel contemplated finding Christina. She couldn't loiter in an area for more than 20, or else a bot would swoop down and detain her, and she definitely didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble. Maybe she should just return home like yesterday. Her mother wouldn't mind extra help for the evening meal. Annabel activated the GPS in her left ear—she always prefered the left side of her body—and studied the suggested path home on the projected screen in front of her. The translucent blue map highlighted the quickest path home, but Annabel thought otherwise. I want to go home as late as possible. Instantly, the image flashed in confirmation, and the green line became a rollercoaster. It definitely looked strange and unnecessary, but Annabel ignored it. She wanted to get home late, and her brain agreed. Polythemus was especially beautiful at night. Annabella and Ian would always sneak to the Flat Hills when they were still freshmen. They are juniors now, but the starry escapades seemed like they had happened yesterday. “Anna, can you describe what the sky looks like?” Anna gave her friend an incredulous look. “You’re telling me no one has ever shown the sky to you?” He shrugged his broad shoulders--he had been an early bloomer--and faced her with his sapphire eyes. “They have, but I’ve never actually seen it.” “What are you saying? Those eye bots should’ve restored your sight! You even guessed the color of my hair, and I’ve never told you about them.” His calloused hands brushed over the smooth blue eyeballs. “But this is different. I can touch my eyes. I can adjust them. And when you try to do the same, you hurt yourself.” Anna instinctively traced the outline of her green left eyeball. She had to undergo the same procedure Ian did five years ago, except for one eye. The bots weren’t lying when they stated replacement of one eye took more adjustment than two, but Anna and her family unit couldn’t afford two. Her fingers traveled to the grass between her toes. It had the same texture as her synthetic eye. “The sky is blue,” she started. “Like the afternoon one?’ “No…” She struggled to pinpoint the appropriate word in her freshman-year vocabulary. “It’s a much darker blue. It’s like the dark, but it isn’t scary. The sky just… ” Anna studied the glittering white balls in wonder. Ian’s eyes picked up on the movement and peered up with her. His eyes could only process a gloomy backdrop - something he stared at for hours during his eye procedure. “Pulls you in,” she finished. Her eyes traveled back to Ian. “Like you.” Ian didn’t respond. “I mean that in a nice way. I know it’s early to choose Friends, but I like talking to you. When I become a Junior, I will make you a Friend of mine. That’s a promise.” Anna’s ears picked up the family bots finally tracing their location. She clenched tufts of grass in her hands. Walking beyond a 10-feet radius from her parents as a Freshman was an offense. A minor one sure, but bots had been sent after them. “Ian? Promise?” And in the dimness of the nightfall, Anna picked up Ian’s subtle nod before a bot’s beams transported them back to their parents’ sides. Her heart leapt. The twinkling lights always gave her that feeling again. Even now, even when she wasn’t actually breaking any rules as a Junior. Annabel couldn’t explain it. Did Ian feel the same after that night? She never got around to ask. It became a forbidden topic to say or even think about. She shouldn’t even be reminiscing such a scandalous act in the first place. But then again she countered herself. It is near curfew. Seniors start home to the Greenwich community and there won’t be much surveillance from the evening to night bot shifts. Sure the night bots would most likely catch her in the act, but Annabel had a couple of minutes to spare for a wandering thought or two. She made a left into the small space between two housing units. It wasn’t according to the map shown to her, but she didn’t want to make the longer walk around the units. A curfew is a curfew. She can be late, but no later than 8 p.m. Addiction rings Grace Ye Art by Lea Shvarts a sooted finger graces lucid waters, a foot too quick plunges past haters Three quick gasps and thus He goes fast right under Silent screams rippled through landlines slicker and sweeter, as if collected with mystic morphine and hypnotic heroin So soon an overdose rings home Wildflowers in Her Hair Aster Art By Emily Chen She was a dancer, performing on stages big and small
Her arms poised and legs quick Her hair Neat Taut Her face Still Cold She practiced day and night Feet moving back and forth on the edge One day she falls She crawls out with the new spring Inching far, far away A field she passes through Sweet breezes brushing along Blanketed in a lush green Flowers sprouting here and there Tiny, yet extravagant She idles around A sigh of relief she lets go at last Time doesn’t stop for her When she blinks Her mind is anew She returns to the stage Eyes no lighter than the tropical sea Smile dazzling Moving with grace, passion, delight And wildflowers entwined amongst her hair Delicate Kimya Firoozan Art by Hiruni Kumari imagine standing in a motionless line heartbeat held fast in standstill. force a smile, clench your jaw, say you're feeling fine. tell yourself don’t worry, this is a customary drill. you’re used to it, but your stomach is churning. their eyes roam down until they meet yours but inside your mind a fire is burning, well wishing to fall deep through the floors. praying pretty please with fingers crossed you think of all the times you stood for hours and all the games you had effortlessly lost. imagine being told you are supposed to smell flowers, “be more feminine,” “girls aren’t supposed to speak up, girls don't fight back” thinking of all the oppressed people hiding behind things you had read. staring at blue light filtered screens, tears that made your body wrack. feeling for someone you had never even met. they had put your emotions into words that you could never express. yet these feelings were old, too many copies faded vignette. “maybe you should wear that pretty gingham dress” maybe that’s why my eyes are glued to the floor whenever I walk into a room. treading lightly, careful to leave precious things as they are. maybe that’s why I now smell each rising flower as it blooms. i’m just an ugly reflection of society, nothing special—an old memoir. Maybe Aster Art by Lea Shvarts She blew the piece of grass in her fingers, the textured tip swaying unsightly in her fingers. “What do you think we will be after school?” He furrows his brows. “After high school or college?” They were only seniors in high school. They hadn’t even set foot into adulthood yet. “Both—I mean when we’re real adults.” “Are college students not real adults?” She throws the strand of grass away and turns away from him. “You know what I mean.” He does and thinks for a while. Her brown irises were back and peering over him with a curiosity he couldn’t figure out. It was unsettling but he found his words. “Maybe a manager in some company, probably an office worker. You?” She takes a breath. She must’ve been contemplating it before asking him. “A chemist or a geneticist but I want to have some free time for my hobbies. Nothing time consuming, that's all. More time for writing would be nice, but I am interested in the science field.” He doesn’t pry and listens to her science rant. He didn’t need to confuse her further. Cassie Zoe Oppenheimer Art by Lea Shvarts Little Cassie spends hours at a time talking to herself. At least, that’s what she seems to be doing. She locks herself in her room and then I hear faint voices. They sound dynamic, as if she were talking to someone. But that’s impossible. Cassie’s only five. She has no phone, and there’s no way to get to her room without walking through the front door. However, I’ve never seen her so much as even mutter a single word to herself; I find it hard to believe she is truly talking to herself. As her older sister, I was naturally curious. But there is no way to get into her locked room, without disrupting her possibly satanic ritual. So, being the delightfully innovative girl with a highly capable smartphone that I am, I decided to plant a “bug”. I slipped my phone into her room propped up with a pillow with what I thought to be the best angle and pressed record. Sure enough, that afternoon, as soon as Cassie came home from her dance class, she walked into her room and locked the door with a sharp click. She spoke for about an hour, was silent for about another hour, then, finally, came out for dinner at 6:30. As she plodded down the stairs, I quietly ducked into her room and grabbed my ingenious spy tool. After Cassie’s bedtime, I played the video. Cassie spoke while facing her mirror. Was she as narcissistic as some of my “friends” who spent hours on just their eye shadow? But, something was off. The reflection didn’t move its lips. How could Cassie make so much noise with the slightest twitch of her mouth. And then, as soon as Cassie’s voice stopped, perhaps just to take a breath, it did move. Her reflection responded. I don’t know if my phone just wasn’t quite good enough to pick up the audio, or if it was truly silent, but the reflection’s mouth moved. Just when I thought things couldn't get any weirder, Cassie reached her arm out toward the mirror, and the reflection reached back. It grabbed her hand, and with a sharp yank, pulled her into the swirling iridescent mirror. What the hell? Is Cassie traveling to Narnia every day? Next time, I’ll try to go with her. Ember Aster Art by Hiruni Kumari He didn’t fit
The wrong piece of a puzzle Eyes were molten unlike the others Heart aflame unlike the others He cared too much and hated too little He should be far away Maybe in a nice town with nicer people A warm house and family Better than these smoky eyes Better than this burning stench Better than bloodstained fingers Easy Kimya Firoozan Art by Lea Shvarts Eat humble pie. What if i told you i didn't want to? What if i told you you didn't have a choice? You can’t make me do anything I don't want to. Besides, I don’t even like pie. I said you don’t have an option. I’ll force you. I’m telling you now. You’re going to regret it. You’re going to regret it. This is it. Regret what? Regret what? Needless to say, I’ve regretted it ever since. Kimya Firoozan Show Me Nothing I Know That I Am Not Waterproof. Soundproof, Maybe. That I Can Acknowledge. Laisser La Pluie Tomber. Et Laissez Le Rossignol Chanter.* *Let the rain fall./ And let the nightingale sing.
2 dollars
Jessica Jiang how much is my love worth to you? is it 2 dollars and some words on a faded newspaper do you have time to teach me one last lesson? i know you’re in a hurry but stay a little before you go because you’re the first i’ve ever loved and im afraid that when you leave me, ill never come to life again you said that i colored you red and blue and together we make up the american dream and we’ll hope hopeless just to prove them wrong but ive never been pictured white and black just doesn't go with purple, they say that’s the reason why you left, ill never come to love again winter has gone by, in the cold you stole my heart summer has just passed through, under the sun you sold my trust its now auctioned to the highest seller i wonder what promises they would break and which ones ill choose to keep ive come with love again with 4 dollars are tucked in my pockets, i think ive finally saved enough to buy some lights there’s all this wonder in my eyes and when im wandering around looking for 2 more dollars i see my reflection in the mirror the look of an 8-year old stares right back at me trying to find her place in the world i turn my head to look away and catch a pair of a stranger’s eyes a piece of me dies every time My Way XILANHUA if i sound creepy
please forgive me 'tsjust that her being makes me crazy it's no excuse for my behavior but now you know why why i want her cuz i love her love her cheekbones her collarbones her vocal chords her posture the crack of her fingers when she's thinking thinking hard i love her and i want her i do, i really really want her want her to love me to love me to love me like i love her but when i see her i see her staring at me from the mirror in her brown eyes in her eyes there's nothing for me like I have for her but i still love her yes like i tell her everyday you are a beautiful girl and i hope that one day you'll come around and see yourself in my way |
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