Hannah Vander Laan

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tlannah VandeF Laan

Soft dark skin presses into my hand And his one following eye watches Amusement etched into his partially open lips Realizing that grasping two hands can make an entire dinner table stop to pray

The pitter patter of too tight Air Jordans A small voice calling through the monitor Quietly sucking water from a washcloth in the bathtub Shaking wet sand form broken purple buckets Finding amusement in the way my eyebrows crease in a concerned arch

But there are too many goodbye hugs Small arms encircling my shoulders Too many beginnings and too many endings I cant keep track of the little head popping through a bundle of soft green towels

So learn not to fall And how to love a ladybug Even one with no home

The €p;lqlt of €tteran aaoL Detuee

Lelter lo on C{oboro h,z- Colcaoo

ln the end, we'll all sprout the shade of a dingy silk curtain; we call the color guilt. We rise from ash pulling silver blades from our lips because it hurts to speak truth when it is either backhanded or bad words spilling like an accordion. From the beginning, we don't expect to be forgotten; to play music folded in threes, like baby clothes pushed to the back of a dresser. Burdens have stagnant eyes in the dark. But child, you'll never know this:

There were no mistakes wlth you. Your parents ran backwards by the hold of adulthood's chains. Let you go at fourteen. Let you become an eighth grade memory swept to the back of classrooms next to suspensions and lost essays. Swore you were not either of their faults. But if you were to be anything like your mother, you'd have her hands. Cradling her face one feather finger at a time. Still breaking her cheeks like stones of girl gossip. You'll never know this

No one ate lunch the week we heard about your parents; an afterschool secret ruining honor roll kids-the inevitable we said. Just as bad. l'll tell you, the cotton mouthed silence was the worst thing. Something selfish, like your father: a curly-haired Puerto Rican sliding his number to the next pretty girl after your abortion. He wasn't one second proud, walking away, head pulled down into the parachute crown of her belly. lt wasn't long before he closed his eyes.

He didn't come to your makeshift funeral. I used to think the second your life ended, remorse would pile high and sturdy as a sand dune inside of them. But your mother, Desiree, smelled of eucalyptus bath water to soak herself clean of your traces. Estevan, your father, labeled himself an athlete and a man, probably for the quickness of his back turning. Swearing, on their lives, your abortion never happened with any sigh of regret. Never wanting to admit they've been dropped to the surface of guilt's burning star, too early, and they still turn on hesitance to feel sorry for you. I know-

each of their hands could turn dust back to stone.They knowyour beginning would have hurt less than this.

Guubry Cadilla,

the Wind Cries lMary on the radio: work blows but squeaking tables spotless moshing mop till floor cries uncle works up an easy sweat wiped off on reek of rag left over lasagna and Pam on spatula sallow wilting lettuce so as I am already spinning on an axis when I hang-up grungy apron promises of back tomorrow floating easy on tongue flip sign in fraudulent apology

"Sorry,We're Closed" sorry indeed cry chinks of little doorbells thrusting sooty me to pit empty parking lot

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crawl and creep harbinger where shadows were running like rats after the four pipers bending to pick a navy toking in adversely bold vanity the game is not rank No It is too dreary dream of a night Turning on a axis I am standing on the ground or at least I hung like that a moment ago I am spinning Peach pit deep in intestine tick jerk in calf at even intervals a muttering chirp of ear crickets a tickle in the groin

all toying plea for skin dives billiard balls and crass dim lights go-around and drive byes raspberry tongues blueberry eyes raw leather skin creases drawn tight and rib and angle of collarbone tremor of cheek mine to whet my appetite cowboy Cadillac leave lr/ary behind

/at K^o,u How ( Do

BuLW Gl*na"

So I step up in da spot, right? Got the dim lights. Party music. Speakers high Top, Jeans low. You know. Li'l skull belt - | had to do it. Few people I know anxious Tryna see what imma do. 5o I do the whole nod thing Like,"What up doe?" Attention back to da dance flo. Now dat's when I see shorty. Shorty. Be. Straight. JoCKlNi fi4et Ok, ok - so I slides ova to da table, right? Cuz I want one of those red cups. You know, the kind with a li'l sum'n, sum'n inside. I knew it wasn't nothin'but a matter of time Yeah shorty, they call me Tech 9. Naw, I see you though. Got the li'l dress, leggings. What?l You might have a boyfriend, but what he gotta do wlt me? And so on, so forth. That's all there is to it really. Hit'er with the woomty-woomp-woomp - you know how I do.

And after that - it's all Gucci.

Sherry Yuan

U,nilrn

Mrch€llL trfillnyus

1. The girl took her Polnte shoe ribbons that were plnk and sewed them with the thread. The instructor warned her that her blisters were bad and to be careful so that blood wouldnt seep through her tights.

But she was too excited to worry about it because she was going to be wearing her new tutu and leotard center stage

with her clean fingernails because she was taught with discipline to do so in French.

16e"r*"1ry .{\ebJry

A brief discussion on the effect of an understatement on generalizations and generals and Gerald Ford and white elastic and cotton for the use of covering ones more secretive anatomy. A nalVe class of many mandibally enhanced mammalia closely related to those known as Homo sapiens. Known by most as the dysfunctionally sundry group of insiders and outsiders between the ages of 13 and responsibility. Flining between the bored reclination of early afternoon and the excrtement of their hampered and diminished nocturnal livelihoods. They come quietly but with a wallop, wham, whump, whomp, rap, thud and a sock;with a pyretic zest of hot air and the cool of an arctic icebox.

They are the cream of wheat and the creamed corn of the harvested cuisine,

.-bl\ 3€r3hdz-

And yet they are the most wanted and most feared and among those the most upheld by the common authorities of blue-poloed post-

col legiate footba I I players. Aboveboard on the boardwalk above the influence of only the bitter boredom but bored nonetheless. Feelings assocrated with the natural nature of this contraption of truth, lies and other philosophical elements. All leading to an accident, similar to that of a puff-chested robin who observably has a burning passion for the taste of lower oceanic regions compressed into a clear hindrance of flight Previously they gazed as their tlme and life slithered onward and the hands of a quartz-synched ring of numerical figures began accelerating beyond the average one-onethousand pace ofthe norm They are left roadside to become what is

expected, to become senescent in body, mind and outlook.

Yet for those who so wish, the members of the fore-mentioned faction, to partake in the daydreams so often savored mid-metaphor in a mathematic standoff, And hope that what willfollow the gloriousness of our callow years will be similar to current trends. All is more rebellious and radical as once pondered in a grade-school desk in years past. The foundation of the fountain of flowing freedom of thought and the immaturity of even the most mature, Lies apart from the retromingent feline in a headdress and the many-named fuzz-ball tended to by lVlary and digested by you with mint jelly. This wellguarded and regarded secret is the essence of every essentially every outlet of angst enjoyed by that so-called plague of the parkway and pestilence of a quiet classroom. It is the chaos and commotion and locomotion of the ocean or the sea.

The wave nearing its doom on the glassy isles of a cold upper peninsula has a notion that its final motion will be seen across sands. And as it falls to demise and creation it

revels in its final act of rebelry.

l+appy btF[hdoJ Ib tAe

Le tc14 gaurlson

Hoppy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to Le Kejl is that Auntie screaming?

Auntie on my fourteenth birthday do you remember how swole your lips were? you could barely spoon cake past your thickened bottom lip that hung as low as your head when uncle Dana was around you said I was old enough to know now that he hits you

Right hookl Right Hookl

He likes to make your face into Picasso's artwork beats the birthmark from under your cheek I forgot what you looked like without raccoon and eyes and mascara to make the bruise gorgeous when the sun's up he turns romantic runs ice baths so skin don't well and brown ain't purple

He says don't cry! Right hook! Stand up! Right hooklWho you lookin'at like that girl?

2. After blood and water on her skin she says his hands described the anger of a man whose mother never taught him to hold his temper and cherish a woman's skin he pours alcohol on the open cut to make sure she squirms and begs when he leaves I sit and watch her rub ice on the hills made to her face looks like his knuckles played soccer on my cheeks she says I remember his fist the one with a diamond on the ring finger every time a carat contacted my jaw I gargled glitter in my blood

I remember how he first loved me

Right hook! Right hook!

Casket!

3. Auntie on my 17'h birthday I laid a rose on your casket your face plastered with peace and you didn't fight to remain beautiful. you just were

Happy birthday to me, hoppy birthday to me happy birthday to Le Keja, Auntie you're finolly free

il^ttta

ln 3rd grade I learn to call 91 1. Heard a scream from my parents bedroom, Followed by cries to my father, How could you do this to me? How could you do this to the children?

A window shattered like childhood of a little girlwho was forced to listen because pillow barricades couldn't keep a mother's scream from battering her daughter's heart.

That night, my parents taught me to mime. Showed me that it was okay to pull invisible strings, and build boxes around me. Because unlike them those walls won't let me down. Those strings will tie me together, When their insecurities beat too closely to my box.

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And their screams echo so I have to open my windows Just to let their sound out.

I was a 7 year old forced to realize, that 91 I was an invisible lifeline, Suckling my mother's veins. Stopping her from shattering Like the glass she was pushed into.

I lost my relationship with my father that night.

Built walls around myself, 5o he could never get too close. I didn't want 9'l 1 to do their job.

I realize my parents have fought over me since I was conceived. It/other prayed for a little girl to manifest her ideas of perfection. Said I was supposed to be named Love.

But that's not what he thought I was made of Gave me a name bearing the word SCAR.

Sherry. Casey. Ann. Reuter. That's all I am to him.

Because 7 year olds don't understand therr parents'fight, And that doesn't mean they want to kill each other It doesn't mean you betray your father.

So I built walls around me, Pulled on invisible strings to tie myself together, And put up walls no one could see. Because when screams echo inside my head, They have to have something to bounce offof

TundrR

It was a Thursday night in late June, temperatures hadn't quite reached their peak yet, but it had still been a scorching day and became a chill evening. The two of them sat on a log with a low crackling emanating from the ground in front of them. Dark red embers glowed below a low flame which cast shallow shadows along the ridges of their faces.Their eyes glossed over from fatigue and the entrancing dance of the warmth in front of them.They only had one blanket, and were thus sitting very close huddled underneath. "l've been thinking-" ,'yeah?" 'And was wondering how we got herel'

"Where?" "l dunno.' 'Well why were you wondering?" 'l started wondering about here, what it is. Then I wondered how we arrived to this destinationl' "Don't thlnk so muchl'

"Yeahl'

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They draw in closer, one leaning more heavily on the other, and both begin to watch the low crackling that casts their faces dark and reddish with an unsettling comfort. One looks up and for once, sees the sky. "Lookl' "what?' "lt's not orange anymore. No more red, or yellow. lust black and whitel "H-uh, I hadn't looked up since we leftl "lt's... Beautiful" The glow now only catches the very lower regions of their faces and necks, their eyes now glittered with millions of white hot infernos.

"What do you think is up there?' "Fue!

"ls that all?" "Coldl' "lt's endless, that can't be alll' "Creatron and destruction. Anything and everything is out therel' "You think we'll ever be out there?" "We sure as hell can tryJ'

They gaze upwards seeing eternity and nothing. Vast emptiness and everything they could ever dream of. They see light, but every dot is surrounded by a black void. Their necks no longer have shadows frolicking along them, the flames have withdrawn to shelter beneath and within the wood. The logs whisper a slow inconsistent rhythm.

"We should sleepl 'l want to think some morel' 'l want to live some more, sleep will allow

thatl'

"l guess I can lay down with youl' 'Okay, l'm gonna get a bit closer to the embers. lt's too damned coldl' Slowly they move from their sitting positions and lay down on the red soil next to the dying flames. One looks into the inferno, the other looks straight up into the millions of them above. With a deep sigh, they fall asleep with shallow shadows dancing across their faces.

/n the Kenlm otthe Iquirrel

0tuen frrnd1

The bright scent of acorns lingers

Beacons in a sea of leaves

The D;t;E fuoonhr

Delre VAttuett;

I start peddling down the asphalt... tktktktktktktktktktktktktktktktktktk The bike keeps making that ticking noise want some q u ietktktktktktktktktktktktktktkt Da m m itktktktktktktktktktktktktktkt i just

t kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt a I I t h e way passed the school. the library. the theatre. And lntoThe

Park. The park where it will all happen. The park where i have to make that decisionnnnNNNNNNNNNRRRRrrrrrr. . .

Stupid car, driving around at 2 AA/.

i tktkt all the way to a tree, and there's a mass just lying there.

It's a Coatktktktktkt. Amanina

coatktktkt. A man trying to sleep in the cold in a coatkt.

iwoke him up with that last loud tkt.

and he asks me for change, so he can eat breakfast when the sun rises. i have none, and i'm not lying. And he starts crying. And i start crying. And i cry away, tkting all the way to her house, justktkt to see if she's still there. tktktktkt kt ktkt ktktkt

Notktktkt one lightktkt on in the housssSssHlRKl As the bike stoops momving, ijust stand there. It's getting cold and my fingers are starting to go

numb.

i t kt ba c k to Th e Pa rkt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt kt ktkt kt kt kr kt

And then home... but i have to visit his house too. Pstktktktktkt the theatre, butktkt notktkt pastktkt the library, i think to myself as the cold wind rushes pastkt my face.

And there it issssSSSHlRKl Only one light is on. His light. and he's just sitting on his bed, reading. i stand in the cold and admire until i can't feel my hands. And i startkt biking home again.

The nightktkt was beautiful now, The lr4oon waning against a purple sky Cirrus clouds surrounding it to resemble an Eye

His Eye...

And he was there for me, and she wasn't, And all i could think about was them both, i had her and didn't have him, i wanted him and didn't want her,

I knew how lwould decide tomorrow

tktktktktktktktkktktktktktktktkktktktktktktktktktktkrktktktktkt

It was cold. lgot home

and allwas numb except for the warm tear sliding down my c h ee ktktktktktktktkt.... rktktktktktkt... tktktkr... tkt...

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