Volume One: Beginnings

citrine volume #1 | winter 2019

contributors

emily r. mcdowell rachel ahavarosenfeld hannah van zee leah kelsey krempasky delaney davidson nina mckee ria rachel stewart ariana joy

editor’s note hello. Welcome to citrine. A wild, spontaneous idea I had one day has finally come to fruition and I am SO excited to share it with you all.

I started this zine when I was feeling lost creatively. I needed an outlet for this weird, directionless creative energy, and thus, citrine was born. Since then, I have been filled with inspiration.

A few months ago it was nearly impossible for me to create anything. Now, I am working on so many different projects that I’m so excited about. I want to thank everyone who sent me their work for helping me to break the cycle of creator’s block, and inspiring me with all your creative energy.

The theme of beginnings seemed, to me, only right.

It was the start of a new year, and for me, a new endeavor in zine-editing. There are so many opportunities all around us to begin. Inside, you’ll see how the contributors have taken these beginnings to heart. I hope that this edition of citrine is the beginning of something that will continue to grow.

I have so many people to thank for making this all possible. To everyone who submitted: thank you for being brave and creative and strong. The zine would not be the same without you! I want to thank Sarah from beyond the commons; Tahlia, my roommate/hype woman; anyone who made me an oat milk latte to fuel the editing process; and Katherine for helping me with this whole printing thing. enjoy.

find us on the gram @citrinezine

Awaken, My Love, God Knows What We Will Do Next the lightnings kept me awake i stayed up, watching them play as you slept quietly under the racket. i let the night swallow me i melt slowly into your breath; god, how lucky i am to have a getaway from my heated head in a form of an angel. my legs get numb as i watch the city drown in the lights of the thunder instead of starlight. it rarely rains here, let alone storms captivating rarity of the darkest downpours. the finest of changes hurt badly when the truth is unknown when future is cloudy and left in luck’s hands. when messy heads desire to unravel they always need help. slowly, i lay next to you letting your hands know my body is near; messy heads need someone and im happy you’re here.

ria she/her @sundmilk

If you seek resilience, watch the moon. She’ll show you how you can be whittled down to a sliver and still grow full again.

-begin again

emily r. mcdowell she/her @wildflower.journal

above leah she/her

right ariana joy she/her @arijoyphotos

Art Show Flushed with success, He glanced He fumbled He thrust his hands professionally Her grandmother’s Comradely smile, Stamped her upper lip.

hannah van zee she/her & they/them @haninthepan

A Love Poem for January January holds my face in the palms of her hands & tells me to dust December off of my back. she bandages my skinned knees & shows me the kindness yesterday never offered. when she asks me where it hurts, i tell her i am an ocean of ache i forget how to travel. see, January undresses me, takes my clothes & folds them back up. she bathes me in the moonlightcleanses my skin & dresses my wounds & i want to kiss her, tell her i am tired, tell her about the grief this body has carried. i am not Atlas, i cannot bare the weight of my own mind anymore. so she kisses me under the stars at midnight. teaches me to catch the fireflies. i fall asleep before the sun comes back up & she tucks me back into bed. slips happiness instead of sugar into my tea in the morning & gives me back the map to my own healing again.

kelsey krempasky she/her @kelseyyb21

I am the sky. the sun melts my mouth, the moon glows from within my bones. apollo and artemis both call my name.

I am twenty different colors in one day. and nothing terrifies me more, than to be so many things at once, and know this is what I was made for, I’m stuck like this. so vast it’s scary, so volatile it’s enraging. and I’m sorry. because I’m enraged too. and I’m more terrified than you. but I’m also not sorry at all, because I am the sky. even when I bruise hues of purple, I roar with a fire red bloom. and even when I’m blue, theres still stars in my lungs, and comets that flit across the darkness that lives in my eyes. n.m.

nina mckee she/her @ninaam_

Another Eve How to begin at the end of another year?

The morning of tasks are deceptively simple: Sort the mail, clear the trash bins, Wash my hair, drink that glass of water But for the year ahead Will I wear a new face?

Will my form deflate and drop sizes, my joints flexing and stretching?

Will I untangle the knots from my heart and head, cutting out the confetti of complicated acquaintances?

Sometimes I can’t even bother to reset the clock in my car Can I be trusted to decide what’s next?

I write my to-do lists against windows filled with grey Late-planted seeds struggling to bloom in the winter-damp earth of December

rachel stewart she/her @allbacktofront

Roses And the wind blew me over I fell faster than before I fell deeper than before So deep that all the lights had faded away And there in the valley of my mind thorns filled my eyes There were no tears There were no sounds Only the feeling of sharp and harsh pain And I slept for a long time Maybe a year Maybe a month So long that time lost meaning to me And when I awoke I was in a garden Its lush roses varied in color But like me, they all had thorns And the rain fell softly on all of us roses Those of us dead Those of us alive All of us sharp and beautiful

delaney davidson she/her @your_red_rose

Alleyway View (Obstructed) oil and marble dust on linen

rachel ahava rosenfeld she/her @rachel_ahava