Haze

When we were light

By:Lauren Gargarella

after Chiyuma Elliott

We were eager to see everything. We found ourselves bending around corners. The leaves— we dove through them like tide pools.

You said release me, and bent yourself into dark corners, you closed yourself in. What I felt was cold.

You tried to come back, but walls are unforgiving. When you finally disappeared, I remembered how I breathed your light,

that I lived to breathe it. I watched the final leaves settle on the dusty floor of our bedroom.

Let me remember you: We danced. Over seasons. We fed the greenery, we grew. We dissipated.

Haze’nt left me yet

By:Alisha Arevalo, @amalisha

35mm film on Olympus Infinity AF-1

Excerpts from The Big Picture: Slowlife

By:Ben Frederick

In 2016, an innocuous cycling crash my world upside down. From chasing the Pro Dream to trapped in a broken brain, in a dark room. The #slowlife was an attempt to capture my experience and existence with a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). Living in the Haze.

After a 2 year intensive recovery process, I was able to enter the world again as a human, not a Bike Racer. Fast forward a few more years, and I’ve been able to race at the top level of bikes, but that’s not where the finish line of the story is. It was being able to go out into the world without being in a Haze.

TBI Life: Part 3 #slowlife

5 weeks of darkness

The light too blinding Movement exhausting Nauseous Weak Fog. Confusion. Alone. Trapped in a broken brain. Don’t do anything, Except nothing Thoughts spiral out of control But “don’t think” Lay there No

TBI Life: Final Installment #slowlife

Pain Rage Sorrow Agony Loss

Grasping my jersey

Torn between embracing and ripping it apart. Dreams and goals condensed and made tangible into a Fabric dyed and colored by sacrifice, sweat, blood, Cut to fit the body etched by hours of suffering, work, joy, happiness, peace, flying, challenge, perseverance and Pain. My heart, soul, passion on my sleeve.

The skin underneath, left pale and colorless without it.

Fingers snap!

A dream gone,

The dreamer, broken

Trapped by the dark

No escape, outlet, relief. Stuck.

Grounded.

No more flying. Not now, Maybe not ever.

smoke signals

By:Alannah Clark

on the drive home I saw smoke but it was just the trees, empty branches outstretched toward empty clouds. in search of fire

I remember you but can’t picture your face. hadn’t I looked for it in every stranger and crowd like a lighthouse in the fog? your flame escapes me. driving past, the trees blur into the horizon behind us.

By: Jake de la Cruz

Off the 99

By:Matt Marcure // @rainamulet

Matt Marcure is a writer based in Sacramento, Ca.

I kick off my shoes to Pick up the dirt

And lay in the shadows

Sparing, blue-black And appeasing

Breathing

A vineyard in the sun

The cars roll and roar

Shear lines

Of all metallic color

Hovering, deriding

The glassy oil-soaked road

The heavy exhaust

Swimming upwards, Cloud-like and dreaming

A hushed exultation

Of the valley horizon

The water gleaming, Burdened leaves

The small plane humming, Hiccuped fog

I lean up to look out: The stretching, collapsing

Bending field in gaseous ripples

That rise to paint the hills

I move my bare feet

Toward the shade

I breathe as it breathes, The dust falling

By:Bennett Smith

A quiet voice , mostly dancing

By:Rhea Aldridge @rhea_aldridge

35mm film

MACHINE

BY: Ethan Wittenberg

Late Hazin

By:Diane Molandes

Acrylic Paint on Canvas ft Film & Digital Photography

The haze is slowing me down but please don’t leave me behind, there are still days to remember.

By:LP

Watercolor & pen

taking space

By:Maribeth Helen

of all the voices, and there are many — i pause

a moment in your haze the dust settles and clearly, clearly i hear myself at first so softly, the rain hitting the window beats in rhythm with my longing heart, and then a bit louder

i know what to do with my body let it sink into the nook let it love the space between where we lose sight of the moon but feel it guiding us home

Hazels Journey

by Rebecca Ann Woodberry Miller

There was a tired girl on the way back to the car fort.

All day the older women had yelled at her, do this, do that, and you did that wrong.

She’d spent all day imagining hanging her car forts curtains. She had thought about library books that were 3 months overdue, and how she couldn’t pay the fine yet.

She added yet another favorite beverage to the imaginary shopping list, sure that citrus tea would be there after her shift.

She drifted into her interior design ideas when her coworker yelled at her. Hazel had mentally hung dreamcatchers and snapshots of the California coast all day.

But now, she would actually do it. As she walked to the parking lot, a toolbox in hand she breathed all her knowing out

And all her knowing looked like that. just a couple breaths, transparent. No one could quite find the words for it.

Understanding Berries

by Rebecca Ann Woodberry Miller

On top of the cold white snow three bright red berries stood out. Like rubies, so precious and out of place.

Henry was walking by. It was impossible not to notice them. He picked them up and put them in his pocket.

Later over at Hazels’ place he brought them out. Threw them down next to the bread on her counter. She talked about her stressful day at work, her angry coworkers. He kissed her forehead.

They ate dinner. He was happy to contribute. Assured that she had so much bread food and milk. His kind love who saved and gathered.

The red berries were a small contribution. They ate them after dinner for dessert in the nearby plaza.

Henry popped the berries into his mouth, and in an instant a vivid red haze appeared in fornt of his eyes, he twitched.

A red haze began to appear around the women in the plaz. Bright like the berries.

It whispered and bounced. It was alive. Moving like smoke.

Women’s figures became apparent, their size and height and dress. The red smoke outlined their beauty. Lines and shapes, age and weight.

It swirled like a dancer, showing off their perfection from every angle.

Hazel, sadly nodded, bursting out in tears. She didn’t need the berries to see what Henry observed. it was always apparent to her. Each figure challenged Hazels own beauty, winning.

Her tears fell, pinkish in the red fog

Henry wiped the tears away. He looked at her, with a understanding of something he hadn’t before. Tears on his fingers.

Feeling her sadness as his, seeing her demons. His chest was sore.

The little berries wore off, as he embraced Hazel, empathy a sad aftertaste.