Ether(bound) Fall 2018

ether(bound)

i s s ue fall ‘18

6

fa ll

ether(bound)

‘18

issue 6

ether(bound) family editor in chief managing editor

Nate Vaccaro Lexie Gardiner

treasurer & visual arts editor Kate Fish secretary

Sirena Cordova

general editor

Ivy Davis

fiction editor Leanna Lobo music editor Cynthia Munrayos poetry editors

Hannah Tucker, Julia Unger

social media & website manager events planner copy editors

Hannah Klinger

Sarah Leonard

Hannah Klinger, Sirena Cordova, Lexie Gardiner

A special thanks to Jeremiah Dyehouse and Donna Hayden, the Writing & Rhetoric Department, Travis Williams and Shawn Dufault, the English Department, the Gender & Sexuality Center, Frank Romanelli and the Writing Production Lab, the Writing Center at URI, the 193° Coffee House, & our spectacular artists for submitting.

cover art ‘Neptune’s Dream Girl’ by mcKey dream layout design Jasmine Langcaster-James, Sarah Leonard, Hannah Klinger, Hannah Tucker

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(e)ditors’ note

A note: Our conceptual theme for this issue, “wheels,” reflects the constant journey of creating, exploring, and witnessing various genres of the arts. As the arts community keeps flourishing at URI, we are driven to continue offering the URI community an opportunity to showcase their talents and passion. We are looking forward to the growth of ether(bound) as a platform for all types of artistic expression. We extend our thanks to our supporters in the URI community, faculty, and students.

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contents

5 Mary Poppins Magic Bag MaraJean Hagen-Spath 6 Picture Lj 7 Gravement, pas Unique Arden Bastia 9 Picture Lj 10 Killing Kelowna Liv Ferreira 11 Our Blizzard Katrina Thornley 12 Obscured Youth 8 Ana Santos 13 David Sofia Ganey 14 Inevitable Matthew Meigs 15 Stop Poem Emily Carter 17 Fall Harvest Taylor Petrini 17 Chipmunk Connor Lanoie 18 Rex Katrina Thornley 19 Aliens (painting 2) Ana Santos 20 Your Sadness Ana Santos 21 hope Julia Ludovici 22 brooklyn Haley Corsetti 23 Moon of My Life Blythe Broadbin 24 A Taste of Sleep and Dust Shannon McDonnell 27 My Many Faces Alessandra Antonelli 28 Photosynthesis Taylor Petrini 29 Obscured Youth 3 Ana Santos 30 lo que me llevo Julia Ludovici 31 Sunflower Tyler Vanable 32 Devil’s Date mcKey dream 32 Screaming Mimi mcKey dream 33 All Eyes on You Alessandra Antonelli 34 Black Friday (A Song I Wrote on Guitar?!) Harrison Dolan 34 Mac is Mar Co Kava Team 34 Gabelle Kava Team 35 A Surprise Among the Citrus Samantha Tickey-McCrane 36 Breakfast Taylor Petrini

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40 Sister Haley Corsetti 41 From the Carving Blythe Broadbin 44 Blending In Samantha Tickey-McCrane 45 Milking the loneliness...

Franchesca Campos 46 Creating Rainbows Samantha Tickey-McCrane 47 Green Card Sofia Ganey 48 Too Fast for Baby Steps Shannon McDonnell 50 Obscured Youth 2 Ana Santos 51 Love Letter to Lexapro Casey Croft 53 Neptune’s Dream Girl mcKey dream 54 Blood and Honey Blythe Broadbin 56 This Old Skin Alessandra Antonelli 57 The Sand Swallower Emily Carter 60 Booming and Blooming Hecmar Delgado 60 Another Dawn Hecmar Delgado 61 Untitled Poem #50 Emily Carter 63 nyc Haley Corsetti

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Mary Poppins Magic Bag MaraJean Hagen-Spath

Hustle Bustle, rustling through her blue pocketbook for Keys?

A timeline of everything that could be unlocked Rush the doors; pick your favorite fall There‘18 can only be so many fall ‘18 Genuine?

The Couch with your lazy arms Hanging like two pieces of potential driftwood Around the edges of my Deep rooted tree Softened pale, yellowed from the sunshine of Our feet Kisses between the moon and The purple floor

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Picture Lj

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Gravement, pas Unique Arden Bastia

She read the first word and that was fantastic. She read the second and it was romantic. She read the third and it was a cacophony of love and lust on the page; an indulgence of the heart in black ink. On paint peeling walls flicker candlelight- shadows dancing a Satanic waltz. In the next room, he was with his chosen opiate, fueling desires only someone with lost inhibitions could think of. He has become far more intoxicated by his own ego. His inflated self floats higher than even the strongest of illegals, but for now he substitutes with whatever he can get his hands on. His stare, black pupils into fire, embrace his mortality, another thought he escapes with a sigh and a hit.

Through open curtains against grimy glass and the dusty sill, lurks the one who envies. She’ll watch from outside as, inside, the woman read her letters and weep the tears of love. She’ll watch him sink into the haze- mixing with ego, higher and higher. She’ll stand there for a moment or two more then turn down the lane, her skirt flirting with her knees, and kicking up dirt, return home to a husband and a son and a life she does not desire. While her husband sits and makes love to a liquid she can never compete with, she turns back to the streets. She’ll pass the churches and their Alleluia- Praise-Be-GodBless judgmental shadow, passing under cross after cross, working her way to her own crucifixion.

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She’ll stop in the dark doorway and wait. Wait for the men with the dark suits, wait for the men with their pockets full of her dinner and rent, but the men with the empty souls in fruitless search of something she cannot give come instead. These men with outward goodwill escape to the dark where they gorge and feast on the flesh of someone else because one body isn’t enough. Someone who isn’t their wife or girlfriend, who isn’t presently waiting at home, who isn’t cur

rently sitting at the kitchen table, another cigarette dangling from her lips, blowing smoke into the air while she thinks about where he is.

Some know. Some of the wives in their housecoats worn threadbare from years of stoves and floors know that he escapes to the other dark doorways because theirs is locked. She’s dirt covered, chain smoking, a spitting image of her mother. She thinks about her mother, how her mother knew her father hid in the night, how she would string chains of ashes, her thoughts fuming slowly, glowing like the end of her cigarette.

And like mother like daughter, the daughter steaming and bitter, her eyes becoming narrow and dark when she stares at the door waiting in wrath for his return. Her situation is gravement pas unique for down the lane and up the lane, in row house and side street, sits another woman, with her cigarette smoke playing games in Satanic swirls in the air. Hers will mingle with the chimney smoke, float with the birds for a while, but then turn at an angle that would make mathematicians cry, before settling in the room with the woman who is tortured by agony and bliss as she builds word upon word.

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(e) Picture Lj

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Killing Kelowna Liv Ferreira Bones will be bones

will be homes.

We mourn the death of the trees, dry our tears on this newfound clearing.

Death, she throws a party in the fields.

Run quick before you lose your hide.

I wait for sleep - a heart heavy with the soft pain of love and grief.

I sit in this soup thick green as the fog comes rolling through the mountains.

I am transported through other worlds one of rocks giant and great coming to scoop me from my dreams.

My ribs open out arms outstretched chasing shooting stars in my sleep.

The sun curls through these weathered window panes but still I cover my eyes.

These hands, like mice, run from me, skin cracking beneath pressure.

The grass withers by my feet unwatered.

This mind swims amongst the beasts in the pools of your eyes.

I let my lungs escape meno flowers bloom here.

I dig behind my ribs to search for what lurks.

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Our Blizzard Katrina Thornley

It was in the dark coldBut maybe it wasn’t dark With the snow’s bright Brilliant glowMaybe it wasn’t cold With the fire from your hands, Embers in the fireplace That I learned Of the love that exists In depths of winter, And the loss of power And the noise that comes From a lack of outside world humIt was in this That I gained a respect For the tricks-maybe treats Of Mother Nature’s tirades.

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Obscured Youth 8 Ana Santos

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David Sofia Ganey

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Inevitable Matthew Meigs

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Stop Poem Emily Carter

* Red sky at night sailors delight Laugh and fight, Delight, Delight, The light the light It shine, shines, Let it shine let it shine Let us — * You’re running But it feels like you’re singing — A trance, Or a chance Or dance — Oh yeah, you’re dancing, But you think you forgot the choreography.

The watchers don’t seems to mind though, As long as you’re dancing For them, And you can’t seem to find The choreographer anywhere, Anyways. * Everyone is smiles, smiles, Teeth and jaws, Flashy flapping, Elbows and sharp parts meet flesh, But it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s Fun,

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(e) * The light still shines.

It’s rosey, golden, Just like in your dream.

But different somehow...

There’s something else, Something you lost maybe?

You forgot.

You forgot what you forgot.

You forgot what you forgot to forget — Get, get, to get and be gotten, See and be seen, That’s the game, right?

And anyways, you’re happy. * Is this what you wanted all along?

All the teeth and elbows and flesh all to yourself?

Did you remember to save some for me?

Take it in, You made it, baby — Someone’s waiting by the door.

Your name on their lips.

The light still shines, * Rosy. * Golden. * Fun. * Teeth. * Flesh. *

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Fall Harvest Taylor Petrini

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Chipmunk Conner Lanoie

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Rex Katrina Thornley

Insatiable Acid rain fed Skeleton Starved bones Embrace The desert Of life.

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Aliens (painting 2) Ana Santos

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Your Sadness Ana Santos

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hope Julia Ludovici sometimes when the wind blows just right I catch a whiff of you in my hair and I close my eyes inhaling the moment I thought was long gone: feeling your arms around me my face buried in your green t-shirt restless lips planting kisses all over sometimes when I look at you I see a little boy tapping on his toy drum set childish wonder lighting up his eyes but when you look at me I think you see a mystery a book that doesn’t have an ending or a middle in fact I’m just a blank page waiting to be filled by your verses hungry for ink stains and sloppy handwriting hungry for whispers and soon-to-be-songs hungry for messes and moments when things fall perfectly into place I want all of you.

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brooklyn Haley Corsetti

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Moon of My Life Blythe Broadbin there is no pain like this body, no love like this scar, you so lovingly lacerated, carved me clear. give me a name. sound it out at midnight, hurl it into the moon, all curled fists and spittle. firing missiles at object too foreign, object too colorful to be strangled into submission. call me honey, call me darling, call me when you’re safe, and far away from me; from these scars, from these fists, from this love you cleanly cut. butcher this heart. god damn it make me feel something call it love call it forever call it “our children will have your eyes” call it “love of your life” give me the moon if only to remind me that i too am small, surrounded by darkness, and alone.

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A Taste of Sleep and Dust Shannon McDonnell The legacies of my grandmothers linger loudly in my home One of them, touched colors into the walls with her fingertips She painted on window panes and hung tourist post cards in doorways She left her son in awe at her Christmas fruitcake Left behind saintly stories The mother who was inches from the convent when love struck her The teacher This is the woman my father loves On Sundays he took me to visit a woman who rocked gently by a window Always watching family feud She liked it when my dad snapped She would smile She always looked strange when the nurses did her hair Squirming in her chair as white strings were pulled tight and twisted The same style echoed through the room on the heads of other women She said to my father once that he looked familiar He smile waivered briefly but then he snapped again for her “Yes, I think we’ve met before,” she hummed The woman who raised my mother was never given saintly monikers She slept with a cigarette tucked in safe between her lips She went to jazz bars and taught me to make martinis She loved mystery novels and ghost stories She smiled when she spoke of her sisters How they teased each other I visited her everyday She felt real My mother’s stories still matched the woman before me

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cont...

(e) She wanted to wash herself in blue Blue walls, blue couches, blue pants She ached for her hair to whiten and a blue tint to stroll through She told me once to call my neighbor a bitch She had been picking on me-- to be fair But I was little “Fine , an itch with a b in front of it then,” she said This woman was alive.

Yes, she could barely move The blue couch and the blue walls were as close to seeing the sky as she got most days But her words still vibrated and her mind still soared.

I could tell she was in pain “Do you need anything,” I would whisper “Ahh a new back?” She’d retort “A new body?”

She’d laugh I had never seen my nana more angry than the day my mother threw away her shoes They filled her closet Their styles spanned decades She was a stylish woman once Yes, here she sat in fuzzy duck pajamas with her swollen feet stretched out But her closet was still that of an illustrious woman My mother packed away her dignity in a singular black trash bag “They were just sitting there,” she tried to justify “At least they are going to some use now” Her mother fumed Inside her cabinets lay newspaper clippings, old key chains, movie tickets, and toys her children had played with once and forgotten No matter how insignificant they seemed, they were cherished Until her death she held her history tight to her chest

cont...

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(e) In my mind my parents were raised by a hoarder and a ghost Yes I understand the complexities and love beyond that But in my mind, when I think about my future, these are my only options I worry that the faces I’ve collected in my mind might fade to black That long before my heart slows, my mind will take its bow Like my nana, I collect the wings of butterflies in bellies From years ago that now have turned to ash I collect the tremors, up fingernails and wrists That jumped with fear But now lie still and flat Like this woman, my mind mummifies and lingers Collects with age and time and rust ----And I worry that this history might be stripped of me That through a feat of passed down traits and genetic blues All my love, and fears and tears might walk away Exit slow And leave me with the dust

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My Many Faces Alessandra Antonelli

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Photosynthesis Taylor Petrini

Maybe if youWhy don’t you justHave you triedIt’s not that simple.

Can you ask the rain to just stop being rain?

Can you ask the wind to just blow lighter?

I am the weather in the NortheastErratic and dramatic, without warning.

Unleashing hazard unapologeticallyWithout control.

Allowing myself to feel myself entirelyWithout question.

It’s not your faultAnd it’s not mine either.

Even on the coldest of days, It is my sunshine you wait for.

It is my beautiful rays that grow the Earth around me, Flourishing.

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Obscured Youth 3 Ana Santos

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lo que me llevo Julia Ludovici the girl who steps off the airplane is not the same girl who got on it.

Spanish words fall mangled from her lips— English vowels stuck in her mouth like peanut butter— but the words DO fall, a hesitant cascada, whose roar will someday fill the valley. the girl who boards the mícro is not the same girl as two weeks prior. she has learned how to tell the driver that she needs to get off at the next parada, and she does so. confidently. the girl roaming Avenida Libertad with her headphones blaring Chilean rap is not the same girl that she once was. she is an insomniac, and very, very anxious, but something about the pacific sunsets—llena de colores, slow walkers—con paciencia infinita, and the cadence of Chilean Spanish, has awoken a new spirit within her. the girl who steps onto the airplane is the girl she had always dreamed of being.

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Sunflower Tyler Vanable The odd in the rose bush, The yellow, quite infectious, The aroma, so tantalizing: A promise of a future overwhelms.

The red in the rose Brings out the sun In the sunflower And allows for gentle beauty The flower takes in its essentials, Chlorophyll - sunlight filling its pores And spreading its leaves out wide.

It always revels in its petals, Just for immodesty’s sake, And it loudly roars: “I have finally bloomed!”

Simply Breathe in.

Perhaps you will wait to be picked And plucked for “love-me’s” and “love-me-not’s”.

But Can you really absorb the sun, Can you really spread your leaves,

And grow tall.

Can you really stay alive and sane and satisfied By thinking of the “love-me-not’s”?

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Devil’s Date mcKey dream

Screaming Mimi mcKey dream 32

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All Eyes on You Alessandra Antonelli

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Music

Black Friday (A Song I Wrote On Guitar?!)

by Harrison Dolan

Mac is Mar Co Gabelle

by Kava Team from the album “Loftus Occult”

to listen, visit: etherboundmag.com/music

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A Surprise Among the Citrus

Samantha Tickey-McCrane

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Breakfast Taylor Petrini

I lit another cigarette while I waited outside the café. I checked my watch, 9:30am. She is always late; how could someone live their life like that? I think that is the rudest thing in the world, telling someone you are going to meet them at a certain time and then to turn around and be 30 minutes late? No way. Every exhale of cigarette smoke got more aggressive and I checked my watch again, 9:32am. Christ, is she serious?

I threw my cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. I reached for my phone to call her when a yellow taxi pulled up. A young woman stepped out and she looked radiant. Each strand of hair was perfectly in place and her attire was pressed and vibrant.

That’s my sister, all right.

“Hi, little one!” she ran towards me with arms wide open. I stiffly let her hug me without reciprocating and then I pushed her away.

“You’re 30 minutes late, Olivia. I’ve been waiting out here in the cold.”

“Well, no one said you had to stand outside.”

“Well, no one said we were meeting at 9:30” I hissed back.

She rolled her eyes and pulled me by the arm into the café. My sister is funny like that, she picks and chooses when she wants to act like the older sibling. It makes me irate. cont...

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We sat down in the café and ordered coffee. While I stared at the menu to figure out what I wanted to eat I felt Olivia’s eyes on me. They were searching me from my head down to my shoes. “Yes?” I asked. She shook her head and lifted the menu up to her face.

“Nothing. It’s just, I know you can afford nice clothes so I don’t understand why you don’t wear any of them.” she avoided eye contact with me when she said this. I clenched my jaw and started to immediately regret accepting her invitation for breakfast. This was typical of my sister, to be a half hour late, not apologize for it, and to insult me in the process.

“So, what are you going to order?” she asked in her bubble gum voice. She was smiling widely at me with her hands folded underneath her chin.

“I was thinking the pancakes, but I’m not entirely sure I want to spend 18 dollars on three pancakes” I replied with a cackle.

“Oh hush, it’s my treat.” she gave me a wink. Before I could protest our waitress came over and took our order. My sister ordered the pancakes for me and an eggs benedict for herself. She also ordered two mimosas.

“So, how is work going?” she asked, crossing her legs.

“Good, busy. I don’t know if Mom told you but I got a promotion.

I’m Junior Editor now.”

“Chelsea! That’s fantastic. Good for you, you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” I fiddled with the silver fork next to my right hand, “how about you?” She gave me a childish smile and her cheeks turned a little red. She took her left hand from underneath the table and extended it towards my face. There it was, a massive diamond sparkling under the café’s Edison lights. I stared at it for a while, unsure of what to say. cont...

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“I’m engaged!” she squealed, practically bouncing up and down in her chair.

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” I shook my head. “since when?”

“Last night, it was a total surprise. Jason did well, huh?” She took her hand back and stared at the diamond. She tilted her head to one side and just stared at it like one stares at a newborn child.

It felt like someone took a hammer to my face. My thoughts were all jumbled up and they felt like mashed potatoes in my skull. Once I began to collect my thoughts rage began to creep in and I took a large swig of my mimosa that tasted entirely too weak. By this time the waitress brought our breakfast over and my sister began to dig in.

“Do you really think this is good timing?” I asked with furrowed brows.

“What do you mean?” she asked, staring at me blankly.

“Um, well, I don’t know. Maybe because our Mother has stage four cancer and planning a wedding might not be on top of her priority list.”

I leaned in, rage was all over my face. “This is so typical of you, Olivia.

Making everything about yourself.”

“No, Chelsea. This is so typical of YOU!” she shouted. “You’re never happy!” I looked around the small café; surely, we were starting to disrupt the other patrons trying to eat their fancy quiches and 18$ pancakes in peace. “You are perpetually miserable. Why can’t you just be happy for me?” I noticed her eyes started to fill up with tears. I should have stopped myself but I couldn’t.

“Not everyone can just live in ignorant bliss like you can, Olivia.

I’ve been the one helping Mom, not you. I’ve taken her to her chemotherapy treatments. Not you.” I must have struck a chord with her because she got up from her seat and fished out her wallet. She took out a 100-dollar bill and tossed it on the table. cont...

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“That’s for breakfast.” She grabbed her coat and stormed out of the café. I sat there for a little while, waiting for the confusion of what just happened to settle before I was able to leave. Once outside I lit another cigarette and hailed a taxi to take me home.

Several hours had passed and I paced around the phone in my apartment. I wanted to grab the phone to call Olivia. I wanted to tell her I was sad and I was scared for our Mother and that I needed my older sister. As I began to walk away from my phone it started to ring. It was Olivia. I picked up the phone and before I could say anything she spoke.

“You know I love you, right?” she said softly.

“Of course, I do.”

“You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“You’re mine, too”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I cope with things differently than you.”

“I know,” I said with a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I truly am happy for you, really.”

“No, I’m glad you said what you did. You’re right.” She let out a little sob and, before I knew it, I started to cry too. After a few moments I heard laughter on the other end.

“Are you laughing at me?” I said, wiping my tears away.

“Yes,” she giggled, “you have the ugliest cry.” I started to laugh too and we both laughed until we couldn’t anymore.

“So, maybe we try breakfast again next week?” she asked.

“I’ll be there.” I replied.

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Sister Haley Corsetti

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From the Carving Blythe Broadbin

I have seen the greek marble still lives and italian acrylics and I believe that if anyone’s hands deserve to be encased in forever, they are yours, who so gingerly played with my fingers on top of the table and with me underneath, who pulled my waist closer to you when you sleep, and who drunkenly plaited my hair when I was knee deep in vodkas and then poured me another. but could they capture the scar on your right index finger from a

cont...

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shoe leather press that your cousin sliced you open with, that I still run my thumb over every now and then and remark about the dent in your fingernail silently, lovingly, or the cigarette burn from a dare and a night too electric to be regular could they get exact the softness of the palm as it coddles my cheek, and the smoothness of it around my throat, the wildness in those hands that becomes part of me, and how much i long to hold them forever.

cont...

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if the most skilled sculpter could not do them justice, then scrap the plans all together, for to create an imperfect replica of my forever, would be something I could never forgive.

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Blending In Samantha Tickey-McCrane

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Milking the loneliness...

Franchesca Campos

The cup half empty, half full yet the mind still finding some way to drown. Funny, looking through the glass only from the perspective of sinking while life is moving at its own set pace up-float?

To what extent does one feel lonely in a crowd full of people, with the pressure of isolation condensing against us. We don’t know how the irony of it happens but it happens, right?

The repetition of this overpowering cietal abandonment is the only of which reassurance ever happens.It will surely come back, hasn’t it already?

The solitary confinement of the human mind is deserted, empty.The comparison to prison is short of one aspect, at the least, cells has someone next door, does your mind have another?

Lonesome, Comfortless, Secluded.

These are all of the titles we categorize ourselves with the feeling of feeling alone. So the question we ask ourselves is this, as the planet and human race is at its peak, how do we find ourselves individually milking loneliness?

And when, when do we go dry?

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Creating Rainbows Samantha Tickey-McCrane

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Green Card Sofia Ganey

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Too Fast for Baby Steps Shannon McDonnell

She sees the world with a limited gaze Her eye-line resting two feet high She is a wild creature A young creature Desperate to grow old

She struggles to reach door knobs but insists if she jumps a little higher the clouds are in her grasp She paints her face in the colors of blush and adulthood Wearing war paint for a battle she is too young to see She climbs in shoes that knock her down when she runs “I will be seen” She thinks to herself As she climbs in those blueberry heels and steps a foot further into the world

She takes a sip of her mother’s coffee because she knows only women can enjoy the bitter taste She has to hold the mug in two hands but when she put it to her lips she doesn’t wince as the hot liquid burns

cont...

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She wonders how the drink knew she was pretending How it saw through her womanly (grown up) disguise How it knew to make the blister form on her tongue To make the sip she took bitter and burnt She wondered what being a real woman would taste like When she can hold the mug with one hand Will that same sip taste sweet Or is womanhood nothing more than a burnt sip and bruised tongue?

She puckered her lips and rouged her cheeks red She planted her feet in her flushed pink pumps And reached one steady hand towards the cup— She sips

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Obscured Youth 2 Ana Santos

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A Love Letter to Lexapro Casey Croft

Every night I place my brain in a strainer and let it percolate while I sleep.

In the morning I pour myself a cup of clarity and throw the bitter dregs into the trash; a little sprinkle of perspective in my drink and I’m ready to start the day.

My little pill does such wonders to my brain I’d almost dare to call it witchcraft.

My little pill feeds my brain the good stuff tells me I’m worthy; pats me on the cheek and tells me not to worry.

Little pill that I take each night strains my brain of bitterness and leaves me with sweet serotonin that I drink up with a smile.

My little pill lifts my eyes from the ground, unclogs my ears, and tells me, “Keep it up, kid,”.

With foresight strong and hindsight stronger I realize how my clogged mind missed the signs; its own dysfunction hidden by itself. cont...

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But little pill has strained my brain and given me True Sight to see that the real me had been under the fog and longs to rid itself of bitterness; to drink up sweet serotonin and breathe easy.

My little pill, my brain-strainer: I’ll love you to the death of me.

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Neptune’s Dream Girl mcKey dream

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Blood and Honey Blythe Broadbin

blood caked on the backs of my ankles, curled in hotel sheets that are wet from the air we smoked 3 packs of Dominican cigarettes in 5 days, and yet i can still taste you in my mouth, your hands are 1,572 miles away and they are on my waist and around my throat. can you ever let me be? can you ever love me like how you promised you would? when I left, when I left, when I left you said you were right here,

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but where is here when I am on the balcony of a 2000 dollar vacation. is this the love I needed? the love that ricochets inside the rib cage you made me believe in God again. what other lies have you force fed me? promised honey but even the cavities hurt so good.

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This Old Skin Alessandra Antonelli

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The Sand Swallower Emily Carter

He is washed in with the tide, The seaweed and sludge.

And with every breath of new air His sides ache and his lungs burn.

He stretches - his fingers curl Around the wet sand, familiar.

His eyelids slip open slightly, Squinting at the new brightness, The clarity of the once wavy Orb of light that splintered Out in the water and through Everything he had known.

He lifts his head. He sees sand, And beyond: the sea. The home He’s known and yet somehow cannot return to . His limbs feel heavy.

cont...

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He remembers being supported and carried through currents, gliding, Flying. Was that freedom?

His face hits the ground. Sand fills His eyes, his nose, his mouth. He swallows.

He tastes the sea and grit; Home and A bit of something he doesn’t recognize.

He thinks it must taste something like heaven.

He closes his eyes and tries to Lift his arms. His throat is dry, His voice is gravel, but he gasps out A hymn of “Gloria” and “Hallelujah” The Sand Swallower realizes that He is not alone. He tastes sand and sea.

He whispers out a soft prayer.

He prays for the Earth and

cont...

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The Sea. He prays for the sun And the Sand. He prays for all The living creatures. He prays for Peace, protection, clarity.

And Somewhere Something Hears him.

And perhaps Whispers back A prayer Of its own.

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Another Dawn Hecmar Delgado

Booming and Blooming Hecmar Delgado

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Untitled Poem #50 Emily Carter

On sweaty summer nights I am a dragon.

My dad wants to put the AC in my room But I tell him I like the Air And the heat.

At midnight, My breath burns And bubbles.

I could keep expanding, Keep breathing in forever, Until I fill the room, Fill the house, Spill out over into the yard, Reaching into the sky, Me, I am full of the sky.

Storing fire in my belly.

cont...

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I had a dream last night That I could travel the whole world In an instant.

In a snap of my fingers, I circled the earth and was back again.

But when I reached down, The ground was putty.

My hand sunk in, I pulled and shaped and built and molded and tore down.

But It was never in my nature to play god, I don’t like to be the one in charge.

I woke before I could see what I had done.

I opened my eyes to The fan on my face.

Breathing in the sky.

I close my eyes again, and imagine I am taking the stars inside of me.

I feel hot.

I peel off the blankets, But never the sheet.

I expand, And breathe out fire, And pray for the strength to build.

62

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nyc Haley Corsetti

63

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