BFEC Zine (2022-2023)

Editor’sNote

Iwanttosayahugethankyoutoeveryonewhosubmittedtothisyear’sBFEC Zine!Ihavebeenworkingonthisprojectfor3yearsnowandIamsogratefulfor theopportunitytoseeallthetalentsofthisschool.TheworkIhavewitnessedhas trulymovednotonlymebutsomanyothers.IbeganthiszineduringourCOVID lockdown,asawaytoconnectwithothersonasubjectwecanallrelateto:nature. Whilethetimeshavechanged,thegoalremainsthesame!Thiszineisanodtoall thewonderfulthingsthisworldhastooer.Ihopethesepiecesinspireyoutoget outsideandstartexploring!Thankyouforagreatthreeyears.

MaryShawaker

ForYou

AbbyNavin

Iwouldsowthiseldforyou.IfitmeantIcouldstayforever Byyourside,wakingtothesoundofbirdsontheporch.

Yourmemoryisfadingalongwiththeabilitytocook But,Icould Plantthesecarrotsinthebackbythebusheshegaveyou. Maybethenyoucouldmakethecarrotcakewealllove.

Idon’tholditagainstyou,butit’shardseeingyousobroken Iwanttoreachintoyourmindandupturnitssoil–tocreatenew

Life AndIwouldgrowthesecucumbersbythesideofthehouse Ifitmeantyou’dstayalittlelonger,holdingmyhandwhileI’msick

Inbed.Butit’snot2005andyou’renolongerlookingatmethesame. Still,Iwouldsowthiseldforyou IfitmeantIcouldstayforever

Here.Idon’tholditagainstyou,butit’shardseeingyousobroken Andstillverymuchthesame.Ican’txyounomatterwhatseedsIplant inyourmind Ijustwanttoshakeyoutoremember,butI’mtoldtoletitsit

andgivewater.Butmaybeyourthoughtsaren’tfading/rathergettingtransferred Somewhereelseforsafekeeping–stashedinsidetheyouthfultomatoesinfront.

AmyMoore

HallePreneta

Between Anonymous

Tolosesomethingthatseemedimmortal

Toswaybetweentwoworlds– existingindierentplanes

Tofeelgroundedinthefact,youarenotgrounded

Floatingbyeveryoneandeverything

Disassociatedfromthelandyoustandupon

Homeisnolongerahouseoraperson–itisaeld

(Locationnon-specic)Aplacewhereloversofsomekind

Gotomeet,mate,marry,move.

Theyexistbeyondthespace

Associatedwithitonlyforabriefwhile

Icouldlearnfromsomethingmoreeetingthanthisesh

Iwantatakeawaytopassontothenextcreation

IdesiresomethingmorepermanentthanIhavenow

SoonI’llfeelathomeinaplace

TakerootinsoilIwishtoplanttreesinto

NoraChapman

“Overwhelmed”

RobertFranco

KharaStrum

TheCornTaughtMe

ClaireBaechtel

Igrewupwatchingthecornweavetogether watchingthewindpatthemdowngently watchingitshowthemhowtomovelikeabladeofgrass.

AndwhenIsatintheweedsIwouldthinkofcornstalks whenImadebraidsandwreaths

mysisterandI

wewouldeatsweetcornandwatchtheways thenehairstangledtogether usingFibonacci’snumbertodecidetheirkernels.

IthinkIlearnedhowtoweavefromthecorn andIneverownedafarmhousebutIownedaspecializedfreedom thatIowateachesyouwhenyouwanttoleaveit

ThatNebraskashowsyouwhenyoulickthegrittyleaves andthedirttellsyouwhenyoufallasleepuntilnoon andwatermelon’scallingandthescentofyoursweat ispoolingatthenapeofyourneck

Isawthecornatnightmanytimes. Overandoveritwasasea.

Itwasanoceanmadeofswayingstalks andmyfeetbetweenthem

arustedcornrake

andthetasteofbitterdandelionleaves

Icecreaminatractorwheel

Isatwithmywindowopen andIlookedoutonthatsea.

IthinkIsawitbestwhenthestalkswhisperedagainsteachother

Themid-Junehumiditytanglingitsngersinmyhair

IthinkIsawitbestwhenthereies dangledcomfortablyaboveit andmymothersaid, “ThisiswhatIwastalkingabout.

“GreatHorn” EmilyHeithaus

GabbyRachman

JessicaLandon

Goldenrod Anonymous

I’llwriteafewwordsaboutgoldenrod, (Asifmerewordscouldconvey)

HowitemergesinSeptemberlikeasunnyprairieblaze

Ifyou'reinthenorthernhemisphereyoumaystumblewithdelight Intoearlyautumnglorypriortoitsaxenight

ThebeautyofFallisknowntoall,butthismonthbestowsatreasure

Thegildedeldsareinterspersedwiththistlesandsweetclover Sunowersofallmannertowerintheiramberfame

AsthestatelyVirgoower,mockingasterandeabane

Butterieshoverandhideundercoverofbergamotandmilkweed

Butmyeyesaredrawntotheaureateones

Heraldingdreadofthedeadmonthstocome

NoraChapman

PatriciaUrban

TheFlower RosaKwon

Thefragrantowersitsbetween twoloversgracedbycupid’stwang heartsbeatingswirlserenelyintooneassweetaromaswell

Thesunsetloomsovertheyoung virgincoupleexchangingfurtiveglances,havingsharedtheirmutualdesiresinfrontofthe

Flower

Sultryarethedaysandhumid arethenights,Yetnotadaygoes bywherethetwolovers’bodies failtomeltineachother’sembrace

Late,upallnight,theytalkofdreams withoutagoal,ofregretswithoutremorse,offutureswithout apast,ofstarswithoutamoon

Beneaththiscloudofscentfulconversation,theowerswaysand humssanguinetunesanticipatingalifeofhappinessand

Love

AidanCullen

AmyMoore

JessicaLandon

Unburdensome

Emma Coffman

Oh, to float like duckweed, to be swept aside on the surface like the water itself flows; while below the slimy seaweed bows slender, sleek, and spineless, bending over river rocks with tender tendrils ever-grasping.

Oh, to be the whiskers on the puckered lips of catfish, effortless, and passive with gills to comb the undertow without so much as a gasp; always gliding, airily, across the late-night lakebed ever-breathless, ever-silent with a mouth agape and cavernous.

Oh, to be a road-killed doe, in shreds under the overpass, flesh falling away while headlight glares slide smoothly over her skull; lying ever-still, unrecognizable as the mother of many fawns, who now wander the woods motherless. And yet, in her fur grows moss and mold and on her bones crawl small societies.

How I long to become miniscule, gentle, and unwieldy, ever-giving, never greedy, to ebb and flow, like liquid, lithely; my limbs and trunk unburdensome, sustaining love, and life quietly.

AmyHenrickson

Dandelions

DelaneyMarrs

Springspentbitingngernails, grassstainedfrommakingdaisychains, Pickingdandelionsandblowingwishestothewind, andtheshrieking,scoldingstopspreadingweedsoftheothers, seeingfaultswhenwesawowers

Dandelionsareweedsbecausetheyspread, menacesbecausethey’reresilient.

Sodowe Soarewe

Callusweedsonagreenplanet, wishesscatteredtothewindaftertheyellowhasvanished.

Ifdandelionsareweeds,soarewe Ifdandelionsareowers,soarewe.

NoraChapman

MaryShawaker

PatriciaUrban

ATurtleAtPompeii RoyalRhodes

Vesuviushadfrozencrowdsinplace byash,alongwithcountlesslivingthings.

Nowarchaeologistsreporteachtrace

Apregnantturtle'sshell,theirdiggingbrings tolight,withexcavatingtoolsandrake, addsmysterythatdoublesdownandclings.

Itburrowednearashopanolderquake hadwrecked,andfoundalairtoitsregret, untiltheashpoureddown--eachtoxicake.

Sowasitfromthecountryorapet?

Itsskeletonshowsdeathhadleftaspace andcrackeditspreciousegg -- lestweforget.

ThroughMarch

VictoriaKerrigan

Thewhite-graycloudsglideseamlesslyalong thecurveofthegreen-yellowhill. Yellowingnow,shadingnow Onench singsaboveonaninnitelyfracturingbranch veiningthroughthesky’slightbluebody.

Forwhatdoesitmattertoher ifitisnine-oh-veornineforty-ve,ona midMarchmorning?Sheknowsgreaterthings,secretthings.

Whatsheknowsshootsupfromtheroot tothepalmfrondproliferation ofhereveryfeather. Theboldprintonthatsteelsquare meanslittletoher.

Forhowdoes‘ne’or‘property’aecttheneprospect ofatastytubularsunningitsearthyank onabedofcrinklingtanleaves?Thest ofthosesteelcutmeaningshangsunpunched.

Theethertightlywovenwithdiaphanousparticles isimpossibletopuncture.Yettheydisperseforher, thelightbluebodyunbarbed.Permitted, shepermeatesprofuselythrough March.Thelightbluebodysofull, shemakesitfuller.

GabbyRachman

ISeeWhatisActuallyThere...IThink MikaylaYurman

Hegazedoutthewindowvaguelybutnotdevoidofemotion.Theemotionwasthere,itjustsat slightlybehindhiseyes,behindaveilofstimuliashewatchedthescenerymovepastthetrainwindow. Maybenotwatched,hewaslessintentionalwithit,justabsentmindedlyregardingthepassingtreesand hillsides Theyweremovingsuspiciouslyslowly,almostasifhewasn’tsequesteredinamovingtrain car,butstrollingalongthecountryside.Maybeitwasn’tthespeedofthetraindoingthis,hethought, maybeitwasjusthismindllingintheblanks,sharpeningtheblursthatzoomedpastthewindow.He shookhisheadtogetridofthisthought,asifhewasadogriddinghimselfofexcesswater.

‘Iseewhatisactuallythere,’hemumbledtohimself,checkingthattheoldwomanoneseatoverwas stillfastasleepclutchingherpurse.Shewas.

Hereturnedhiseyestothewindow,cockinghisheadslightlyasifitchangedwhathesawoutthere Hiseyesfocusedonnothinginparticular,stillvacantlyobserving,untiltheyeventuallylandedona tree.It'snotthetallestamongthecongregationoftrees,butsomethingaboutitwasmoredignied thantherest;itstoodtall Nottallinthenaturalsortofwayonewouldexpectatreetobe,buttallin thesortofwaythatlooksliketheirmomjusttoldthemtostandupstraighterandxedtheircollar.He closedhiseyesandbecameawareofthesoft,almoststickysoundhiseyelidsmadewhenheblinked. Thwip.Click.Hetookapictureinhishead.Thetreewouldbeinthereforevernow.Hewondered howthetreefelt,wasithardtostandthattallallthetime?Doesitgetcoldandtiringtofeelyourleaves shakeandgetclosertofallingowitheachgustofwind?Whataboutthewoodpeckerswhotorment theouterlayerofbark,consistentlyhammeringaway,doesthathurt?Doalltheothertreestauntyouif yourbranchesweremorespindlyandscraggly?Whathappenswhenthemanwiththeaxcomes,ready tobuildhimselfanewshelformaybeacanoe?

Herealizedthetreewasnolongerstationedoutsidehiswindowand,thoughhehadgonethrough hundredsofquestionsinhishead,nomorethan30secondscouldhavepassed;thetreestillstood proudlyinthedistanceandinhisheadspace Hiseyesreturnedtothewindow,ittingbackandforth betweenthepassingtreeslikeahummingbirddartingfromfeedertofeeder.Thistimehiseyeszeroed inontheatpeakofagreenknollnestledamongtherollinghilltops.Hiseyelidssquishedtogether again Thwip Mentalsnapshotacquired Heponderswhathappensthere Maybeinthespringa youngcouplefromanearbycabinwilltakeahikeandhaveapicnic Theysitwithabasketandperfect redcheckedclothunderneaththem,athinlayerbetweenthemandthepillowofgrass.Maybetoday theytalkabouttheirfuture,hewantschildren,shedoesnot.Adogisenoughfornow.Hewill

buyalittleouttforthedognexttimehegoestotown.Eventuallyhecallsthedogtheirbaby.She keepsquietaboutthischangeinvocabulary,keepsthepeace.

Maybeinthewinter,thesquirrelsclamberupthesnowandstoretheirnutsunderneaththesoftlayer oftopsoil,turningtheirsmallpawsintoshovels.Theyskidontheiceontheirwaydown,limbs outstretched,tinyrodentgureskaters.

No,no,nohesuddenlyturnsrestless,leftonedgebythethousandsofpossibilitiesforthiscurrently emptyhilltop.Iseewhatisactuallythere.Heturnsbacktotheoldwoman,worried he’sbeenthinkingoutloudandwillbemetwithabewildered,almostscaredlookfromher.No,she’s stillasleep Thissootheshimandheturnsbacktothewindow

Hiseyesplummetedintoavalley,rightalongthetraintracks,nearlyhiddenbythecanopyoftrees. Thwip Hownice,alittlecamouagedoasis There’salittleriverdownthere,owingslowlybutsurely Whatdoesitfeelliketowormyourwaythroughrocks,wearingthemdownintosmoothskipping stones?Onesthatwillbepickedupbychildrenandcallouslythrownbackintotheriver.Theydon’t understandtheyearsoferosion,theyearsofworkthatwentintothis.Doyoufeelhelpfulwhenthe doeleadsherfamilytodrinkatthebankoftheriver?Whataboutwhenafoxtriestoshimmyacross thatoldlogbridgingthegapbetweenthetworiverbanks,doyoufeelsorrywhentheyfallintoyour water,plungedintoitscoldness?Whentheteenagersslinkoutoftheirclothesandshriekastheypush eachotherin,doyoughttheurgetowashtheirclothesrightothevalleyandsendthemdownthe rivernevertobeseenagain?Orareyouhappytobepartoftheirjoy?Whataboutwhen

WOULDYOULIKECOFFEEORTEA?

Thetrainattendantishere He’sworriedsheknowswhat’sinsidehishead,she’swokenuptheold womanandthey’rebothgoingtolookdownonhimnow.

Heshakeshisheadtoridhimselfofthatideabuttheattendanttakesthatasapolitedeclinationofher warmbeveragesandpusheshercartawayafterhandingtheoldwomananEnglishBreakfasttea He thinksitsmellsnice,maybehewantedteatoobutthat’sokay,theattendantsawwhatwasactually there.Theoldwomanstirsabitassheclaspsherhandsaroundthewarmtea.Shelooksathimbut reallylooks,herwiseeyesregardinghimasifshewerewaitingforhimtosaysomething

Shewasprobablythinkinghelookeddirty,hishairstringy.Sheprobablywonderedwhyhewasevenon thistrain,whowouldmeethimatthestation?Sheprobablythoughtnoonewould.Heshookhishead again No,no,no.

Heshookhisheadsohardeverythingwentblack,everythinginhisperipheralvisionreducedtoasmall pinprickoflightthateventuallywentblacktoo.

Hisbreathingpickedupandhestartedblinkingrapidly,thwip,thwip,thwip.Thesewerenotthekinds ofmentalimageshewantedtokeep Hewrestledwiththestrapsofthevirtualrealityheadsetbefore rippingitohishead.Heknewhadaringaroundhiseyeslikesomesortofraccoon.That’showhe knewhe’dbeenintheretoolong.Hegentlyranhisngersalongthedivotscreatedinhisface, nervouslywalkinghisngersalongtheoutlineheknewtobeushedred Hetossedtheheadsetaside asifitwasn’tsomeextraordinarilyexpensivepieceofequipmenthisstep-dadgiftedhimforhis twenty-thirdbirthday.Aweird‘Iunderstandwhattheyoungfolksareinto’typeofpresent.Strange thatthemanwhotoldhimhewastooimaginative,someonewhospenttoomuchtimeinhishead, wouldgifthimtheprospectofanalternatereality

Heturnedthelightsoandclimbedbackintobed,lettingthelightpollutionfromthecityoutsidethe windowwashoverhim.Hekepthiseyesopen,afraidoftheemptyblacknesshewouldagainbemet withiftheyclosed Ifhetriedhardenough,thenoisycarsonthestreetbelowwouldbecomethelullof thetrainslowlymovingthroughthecountryside.Theashoatingpasthiswindowfromthegirls upstairssmokingtheircigarettesonthereescapecouldbesnow,searchingforanalrestingplaceon thetopsofgreenhills.Thelightsintheapartmentbuildingcouldbestarsandplanetsacrossthewayin theclearruralsky ‘Iseewhatisactuallythere,’hesoftlysaysoutloud,‘Iseewhatisactuallythere’ Ifhesaiditenough,maybeitwouldcometrue.

KirstinFuller

MikaylaYurman

Construction

MaryShawaker

I’mnothappyyou’rehere

Youpervadethestillsilence

Thatoncewas

Withdestructiveclamor

Youcuttheforestdown

Theshelteredhome

Ofbirdsandsquirrels

Rabbitsandraccoons

Thatisnowabarrenland

Ofbulldozersandsteelmachines

Whoclaimtobuildnewformsoflife

Whiledestroyingwhatwasreal

Whatwasalive

Whatwassacred

Whatwasmine

Andwhatcouldhavebeenyours

Justtobereplaced

Byaconcretedream

Hopelessandforgotten.

Stone

CarolNewhart

Thesetwohandsdon’tslip

Nurturingofthecrooktheyinhabit

Bruiseinhibited

Impactuntangled Just Skin On Rock

Forwhenairhitsstone, Morethanitcanshakeo, Idon’tknow

Lessstonetofumble,moredusttobreathe

End-Note

Thankyoutoeveryonewhomadethisnalissuepossible!SpecialthankstoAidan Cullen‘26whosegorgeousphotographisthecoverthisyear!

Keepbeinginspiredbytheworldaroundyou!

WithLove, AbbyNavin‘23