Perspective 2019-Literary Magazine

T HE PE R S P E CT I VE

inner peace-heather eller

03

THE PER SPECTIVE

METAL KITCHEN WARE

01

god in my kitchen- abbey de ruyter

slugging around- jada carlson

top left: that's not a cat- levi streedbeck top right: light-abbey de ruyter bottom left: seascapes- noah newell bottom right: new heights-isaac nelson breathe-mckennan folkerts

05 05

CT OONN PPEERRFF EE C T II O ONN

CCIICCAADDAAOO stressing over ken- jada carlson

In all that I have seen and done In all never that I had havea seen anddispleasure done I have stronger I have never had a stronger displeasure

And covers your back with a cement blanket. covers back with player a cement blanket.

It And places a vinylyour on the record It places a vinyl on the And scratches its long nailrecord across player the ridges Andand scratches Over over. its long nail across the ridges Over over.house pet.

Hate is and a terrible Hate is a terrible house pet.

But a maw so treacherous and vile Butwhen a maw so treacherous and vile And it cries it sheds no tears And when it cries it sheds no tears

It leaves its bags in every doorway, It leaves its bags everyitdoorway, You can’t even walk in without reminding you You can’t even walk without it reminding you I regret most of all, I regret most of all,

amongst the stars- tyler hylland

Which burrow instinctively into my skin Which burrow skin The things whichinstinctively were never ininto mymy control.

The things I grieve simplywhich for, were never in my control.

I grieve for, able to save The ones Isimply was never Thethings oneswhich I waswere never ableintomy save The never control.

The things which were never in my control.

These things which I bear no fault These things bear no fault Cling to the wallswhich of myI skull Cling to the walls of my skull Echoing a dirge that has long since reached its final movement.

Echoing a dirge that has long since reached its final movement.

My head rattling.

My head rattling.

07

I HEAR AMERICA SINGING

I HEAR AMERICA SINGING

unlear-heather eller

09

THE FIRE OF MY THOUGHTS

CONSTELLATIONS success- heather eller

unbroken- mckennan folkerts

11

SUNRISE

left top: untitled-nash stenberg left bottom: the memory of march- ashley claussen top right: vitamin- heather eller

PAINTED PICTURES

13

THERE IS A RIVER

top: multi-colored buddha- serena scott bottom left: stop and smell the roses- serena scott bottom right: kyla clark

14

JAPANESE NAMES

macbeth-ryanna washegesic

resurrection- tyler hylland

17

THY BELLS TOLL FOR ME

I had taken the life of someone who did nothing besides fight

I found right I felt my heart become tight and tighter as those As the blade to which I slayed my fellow man still laughed The blood was dripping from my fellow man’s throat onto my hand The blood reached my arm Finally, after those tormenting seconds, I disarm the knife out of my fellow man's throat I stood there paralyzed I stood there emotionless

abby groth

19

SIMPLE SEASON

sweet innocence (watercolor)-mckennan folkerts

(ink and watercolor)-natalie defender

(strippling)-ainsley bauman

father's last walk (acrylic landscape)-morgan oskar

mckennan folkerts

20

WELCOME WEST

My parents practically disowned me as I headed back to public school. It was cramped and even less challenging. Mom applied to school after school after school, determined to get me back into an academic environment worthy of my brain. She spoke in the most grandiose manner on the phone with principals and advisors and coordinators. Then, she would turn around and, with a sigh, ask me how I got her back into this mess. I kept quiet, I loved her dearly, but I could not understand the pressures she put on herself and her “prodigious, remarkable” child.

To her dismay, the next four years of high school were a nightmare. I ran away from three more academies. I made the same friends, crafted the same unique worlds with them, and ultimately created some masterplan to subvert the status quo. Of course, every year I landed myself back in my local high school. And every year I chose to reenter the godawful prep schools that I once admired.

At my second school, my history teacher was this remarkably ugly, old scrap, who I bickered with every period, whether it was a discussion day or not. During a particularly insignificant lecture about the Tang Dynasty of China, he randomly brought up the old adage, “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.” That night I could not get it out of my head. The way he said it, too, was so mystifying. It felt pointed at something greater, myself, but myself in a larger context.

Of course, my ragtag team of misfits and I reveled in the “curious nature” of the cliche that night. But, of all the ideas my various tribes blew out of proportion, this one has stuck with me. This random lesson on the Golden Age of China bespoke the current that ran through all my thoughts and confusions at the time. I still find it chipping away at me, begging me to explore the depths of “distance.”

The mornings out here are endless. But the nights are where everything comes alive.

During the day, the mountains are breathtaking, birds magnificent, so on and so forth. But during the night, good God, the mortals are booming with the restless energy of the dream world. Nocturnal animals camp out in the psyche, prey on the wildness. I thought the sun would be the star of the show here at Yellowstone, but the moon is the intrinsic mother of all things righteous and strange.

Often, I wake up with a jolt in the middle of it all. I stare in the mirror, looking at that gray reflection. The happy hairs on its head, stubble on the face. Cold sweat still runs in tributaries. An ocean of gray light. I throw on some slippers and go out. Look around. Shirtless and cold, I walk. I feel as though the ground bounces off my feet, gravity becoming inverse of itself.

On those nights, the mountains are not simply breathtaking—they cut you open and steal the breath for themselves. The birds are not magnificent, but they create the magnificence. Everything means something in a flash. There is a jarring sense of oneness, like youth or family. You can find yourself walking for miles without a shirt or sense of self, and feel totally comfortable.

I do not exaggerate when I say that I find myself at that tiny gas station sometimes. The walks stretch miles. While nobody is awake, I survey the earth.

Tonight is no different. I have woken up. Looked in that most gruesome of mirrors and smiled. Looked around the room, checked the desk—the letters from friends, colleagues, Mom still there. And gone out. To explore, to complete the mission, to find myself, maybe, amidst the chaos and jubilance of the dark.

(acrylic landscape)-brooke brown

(acrylic portrait)-emily ricketts

black and yellow (acrylic painting)-anna bosma

24

DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL

muffled- jada carlson

tyler hylland

abby groth

27

26

GRANDMA

BONFIRE ON THE BEACH

SAFE HOUR

(scratch board)-helen telahun

t ha n k y ou t o al l w h o c o n tr i bu t e d to t he p e r sp e c t iv e . th e l h s st at e s m an