THE INKWELL LITERARY MAGAZIN FALL 2016 Art title by artist name
THE INKWELL FALL 2016 Managing Editor Rhetta Weeks
Associate Editors Rachel Glover Engla Carter Faythe Choate
Art Director Stephen Atkinson
Faculty Advisors Maria Studebaker-Coppage Jay Snodgrass
THE INKWELL LITERARY MAGAZINE ACKNOWLEDGES OUR GENEROUS SUPPORTERS The Inkwell Literary Magazine is published in Thomasville, Georgia, from Southern Regional Technical College, a member of the Technical College System of Georgia. Unsolicited manuscripts are welcome. However, we are unable to enter into correspondence with writers about their manuscripts. The editorial board encourages simultaneous submissions. We try to reply to all manuscripts within 12 weeks. Sometimes, this is not possible. If you believe we have had your work too long, please feel free to send it elsewhere. All manuscripts should be submitted via email to jsnodgrass@southernregional.edu with the subject heading “Inkwell Submission�. All future rights belong to the individual authors or artists. Publication of this magazine was made possible in part by a the Student Government Association of SRTC. ISSN: *********
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Special Thanks To Southern Regional Technical College Student Government Association for the generous contribution without which this publication would not be possible.
Contents My Heart opens Like A Junk Drawer 10 On Buying SSRIs at the Walmart Pharmacy On the End of Days 12 CAROLINE WEEKS
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Rustic Heart 13 JENSEY HUMPHRIES Metamorphosis 14 LOREN OSGATHARP Musings During a Rainstorm 15 SAMANTHA ARWOOD KNOWING 16 ABIGAIL GARCIA Before Sound 17 PATRICK DONNAN Caravan 18 KIANA ROMAN Natural Turn
20 JASMINE CARTER
The Path 25 TONY HERNANDEZ Beautiful but Damaged Lover 26 SIERRA PARAMORE I-10 to Pensacola 29 CAROLINE WEEKS Marriage of the Stormtrooper 30 EMMA THEDFORD My Sisters 31 ATAHJIANNA WILLIAMS
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Unrequited Dreams 32 Heart be still 34 SAMANTHA ARWOOD
Love of My Life 59 CHRISTIAN BOSTICK
Closing a Chapter 36 ALISON POWELL Suffocating Silence 38 NICOLE KELLEY
THE SEA BESIDE 60 RHETTA WEEKS to see me broken 61 SAMANTHA ARWOOD
The Republic 40 FAYTHE CHOATE
I remember rising 62 EMILY DUKES
My Best Friend 41 KELLY HATCHER
FREEDOM 63 JORDAN NEWBERRY
Looking Into the Eyes of Love 42 GAIL LAWSON
too hot the eye 64 AUSTIN MIMS
Two Days 43 GARRETT PAYNE
The Puzzle of Love 65 NATALIE SMITH
Jenny 45 HEATH BRINSON Conquest
MATHEW BYRON DEEN This War of Mine 58 TY COCHRAN
To Mask 66 MEGAN STANLEY
47 KESHA BROWN
If I Only Had Wings 67 AMANDA COTHERN
Love is 48 KATHRYN BURKE The November Forest 50 SKYLER COLLINS
My Daughter 71 Going Back 72 ENGLA CARTER
A Summer’s Day 55 SKYE HINTEREGGER
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing 74 RACHEL LEE GLOVER
The Secret Darkness 56 TRISTEN GOODMAN
My Pain 76 MARY KERSEY
A Cheerless Cento For the Lost vi
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Never to Love 77
HEATHER LINO HOW TO: 78 JOANA RUSSELL Pop Culture 80 SKYLER COLLINS SLOWLY 82 JOANA RUSSELL Hearts of Lovers 84 SIERRA LEMCKE I Give It All To You 85 BROOKE FRANTZ I am a Moon 86 ALONZO TUCKER On 1,000 Miles Distance 87 CAROLINE WEEKS Birdie’s Story 88 JESSICA MCDANIEL A Walk to Remember 90 SHANNON BELL THE CHOICE 92 ENGLA CARTER How Long is Life 93 THELMA HORNE Do All Lives Matter? 94 AUSHIKA DAWSON Addition 97 SAMANTHA ARWOOD vii
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Maria Studebaker-Coppage
Maria Studebaker-Coppage
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Maria Studebaker-Coppage
RUINS OF DUNGENESS Rachel Lee Glover
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Michael Serine
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Loren Osgatharp
HAIKU
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Loren Osgatharp 9
CAROLINE WEEKS
MY HEART OPENS LIKE A JUNK DRAWER
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My heart opens like a junk drawer. A million abandoned projects. Several heartbreaks’ worth of nowhere-to-fit pieces.
When I was six, a greeter peeled a smiley-face sticker off a dense spiral of paper and fixed it to my collar. I cradled it in my palm until it wilted in supermarket fluorescence, honeysuckle-like. On the Way You Move Have you ever seen sunlight drink up smoke?  
ON BUYING SSRIS AT THE WALMART PHARMACY
CAROLINE WEEKS
THE INKWELL
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CAROLINE WEEKS
ON THE END OF DAYS
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No man knows the day or hour except the televangelist seeking to fill living room sofas and gleaming empty coffers.  
Rustic chimes ring – a summer breeze so mild, tender smiles of joy Roars of the locust radiate the sun’s energy, becoming deaf Racing the beams – wall of green ivy flourishing within me Fuzzy hearted rumbling throughout petals, mighty bumblebee Manipulating loss of natural knowledge for technology
RUSTIC HEART
JENSEY HUMPHRIES
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LOREN OSGATHARP
METAMORPHOSIS 14
The wind whispers on, through chilly mountain air; frost crunches beneath. Each nut and acorn the squirrel gathers prepares for winter. A drop of water, crackle of thunder, lightening. Blossoming flowers, the beginning of new lives – spring has come again.
MUSINGS DURING A RAINSTORM
Petrichor and chlorophyll Rain that drowns the windowsill Shifting heavens, sifting earth There’s nothing to match the water’s worth
SAMANTHA ARWOOD
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ABIGAIL GARCIA
KNOWING 16
Cat walks my way not stopping – still walking I slept in late, woke that afternoon – sun still in the sky Night noise of chattering bugs, what are they saying? The owl is wise, but not wise enough to know who A woman knows all until she knows no more
Frogs ribbiting – the night was silent, not now. The night sky filled with lights no one flipped a switch to turn them on There are no problems until someone creates one morning sun lights the sky no one is up.
BEFORE SOUND
PATRICK DONNAN
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KIANA ROMAN
CARAVAN 18
Why are you named so, for the humming of your wings or the song you sing. The ocean waves splash crystal water surrounds me – I found peace The bare forest floor where many memories lie – here, my sorrows weep
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Michael Serine
JASMINE CARTER
NATURAL TURN
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Constant fall showers drench the humble grass plains drown the soil Sunshine warms my heart, my heart pumps blood, viscously. I am living. Love can’t be lost – love can only be regrown within your vine-like veins Grass tickled my face, insects trampled around me – sun soaked limbs sprawled High mountain top wind – cool breeze smells fresh ear-splitting snow beneath.
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Michael Serine
Loren Osgatharp
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The path that lies ahead might seem untrue But do not lose sight of what motivates you. Whether its ambition or fame you seek, Or to ascend the world’s treacherous peak, Always stay true to the light that is inside, Never from your mission should you hide. Remember that sacrifices are not fun, But towards your goal you should always run. Only the strong and persistent prevail, And the coward and weak will only fail Remember the distance you have traveled, Because your reward will soon be unraveled.  
THE PATH
TONY HERNANDEZ
THE INKWELL
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SIERRA PARAMORE
BEAUTIFUL BUT DAMAGED LOVER
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What happened to the beautiful lover I wish I knew but she knows how to take cover she puts away her feelings in a box and puts them on lock so no one sees what she’s really feeling inside she goes throughout the day smiling, pretends everything is OK when really it isn’t but she always pushes herself to say it will get better someday she looks around but her heart is filled with sadness just wishing she knew the steps of gladness but instead she is cold, the words that break and tear her down always seems to follow her around she often wonders what the heart ever finds a lovely place, she doesn’t think so because the world is so harsh in her face she is torn left and right but no one sees it in sight the beautiful creation she was made to be was truly torn down by reality she prays that someone will enter her life speaking a word of hope and peace so maybe one day just one day all the anger will cease she looks in the mirror her eyes filled with tears hoping someone will come along and help her forget her fears she continues to love people who don’t really love her back and that is why her heart is broken and cracked but someone found her along the way
and showed her true love and a brighter day and all the pain and suffering that she felt in the past left her at once and at last she can describe this figure as a guardian angel the one who protects loves, cares and keeps her from all the anger the angel speaks to her hoping she will see that if she turns to him he will take all of her misery and she will see not only the face of love, her God and Savior and King but she will also see the beautiful lover she was always meant to be. And that person was me.  
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Michael Serine
grows dark like New York never does. Here is sun-up, suddenly deep as an Astor Place noonday. Here we have roadside signs and wonders we don’t notice, gas station lattes, and shimmering miles and miles of parking lots like delicate fish bones. Flora-Bama fluorescents map triangular shadows sharp as a sinkhole tooth on the asphalt. I collect synonyms for the verdant strange, the sprawling scarcity, the emptiness that takes up so much space, even the glacial airplanes bannering the blue reach no one and nothing for miles and miles. Exit 7, keep right. Here we are.
I-10 TO PENSACOLA
A kudzu choir climbs the concrete apse in a hissing gleam of rain. Motel-colored murmurings at three in the morning, a half-sleeping seatbelt pattern on my cheek. Florida
CAROLINE WEEKS
THE INKWELL
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EMMA THEDFORD
MARRIAGE OF THE STORMTROOPER
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While caught within a net in Endor tree, recalling thee, my fear by love is met. Our passion turns the “thou” and “I” to “we,” Thy sweet devotion puts me in thy debt. On Tatooine as we lovers we shall convene. Within that heavenly place, we’ll make our nest. The night is full of stars, all bright and clean. Take me within thy arms, thy eyes, thy breast. Love is a perfect flower, sans decay. Love is a balm unto a lonely heart. Love doth demand repayment sans decay. Love is a sculpted, finely crafted art. Though adversaries beneath their helmets, The pilot of my heart does ably steer.
It was five of us and now it’s just four because of this think called cancer. It hurts me to the core. When we found out about it it broke my heart. My sister had it. We knew she would go far. Three months passed and her heart stopped. We thought she would last, but all we could do was sob.
MY SISTERS
I love all my sisters we will never grow apart not even for the misters because we will always be in each other’s heart.
ATAHJIANNA WILLIAMS
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SAMANTHA ARWOOD
UNREQUITED DREAMS
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Understatements undulate in a tumultuous sea Seize the day some people say, but it looks unattainable to me Find your niche, and bruise your knees for the sake of loving someone Lose your worth to make things work and end up blind or run Separate the lock from gate and measure every step the longer path from me to you is as far as I can’t get For doubting once, but thinking twice I’ve had to catch my head. I’ve seen through more than my own eyes, I’ve seen through yours instead
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Michael Serine
HEART BE STILL SAMANTHA ARWOOD
Still there, aren’t you? You keep me brooding and bleeding when I want to be in a good mood, when even food can’t make me happy, nor good company. Damn you, you murmuring madness. You masochistic mass murderer out to make use of the wicked words you keep. You wildly whittle away at the shield on what I used to think was an unsinkable ship on the brink of bringing back something happy. Something other than the same old dregs dredged up from the ground floor of the dark depths I call home. Home base is my place of self-discovery, like a trace of me in a sea of you. But you can’t see it from far away, which is where the piece of me seems to stay. They say that when the going gets tough, the tough get going, you were tough but you’re going in a different direction, pulling me like I’m needing correction, but you’re feeling with a selection that you can’t control. You’re on a roll on this emotional roller coaster, where coasting is impossible, so you get out and push. You push around the person you’re controlling because it’s better to have something be rolling, even if it’s tears down my face. I now I face the years you’ve broken my gears and confused my cog filled clocks and made me cock my gun aimed at you. I know that if you die, I will too, and I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to do, but right now it’s easiest. Can’t face the rest of my days, and stay here where clear air is suffocating and clouds let me breathe. Let me leave. You’re a problem that’s grown and become blown out of proportion, broken every bone I own and hummed a droning tune that lulled me back to sleep. 34 Not this time, you creep, even though I weep, I’m not weak. I’m staring at the welts that you created and tried
to deny with every fabricated lie and watertight alibi. But in truth, you were there every step of the way, egging me on with every fucked up word you say and now you say it’s me who has the problem. Maybe this isn’t my heart I’m writing to, maybe anxiety, maybe depression, maybe my worthlessness, these words are for you. No matter what, I know it’s not true. I’m a deep shade of purple, but you’ll never make me blue. You know exactly what dark hell you put me through, and now that I know that my demons are you, you won’t be my demise, because deep down, I realize that even though no one can see you with their eyes, you’re real and I feel every steel cut and maim that you work into an entirely different spelling of my name. But I’ve come to grips with the fact that I’m not to blame. I know I’m not a blank canvas free of mistakes, sold out in a shop, or something to replace when it breaks, I’m not something someone stakes their life on when the stakes are too high. But I’m glad I’m not a car with no brakes that never makes it out of the shop, because it can’t stop, so it shouldn’t start. I’m sorry dear heart for misunderstanding. I hope you see me landing flat on my feet. I’ll use your beat to make a rhythm so complete that my legs have no other choice but to follow. Follow a path whether it’s safer to stay inside or not, because inside I’ll rot if you don’t see the sun, I’ll use oxygen. Run. Although it seems like you’ll never be whole or never leave home again, even though it seems like you’ll never see better days, stuck in depression’s haze, know that these aren’t the only ways. Because life isn’t over;
THE INKWELL
GRAZING ON THE DUNGENESS LAWN Rachel Lee Glover
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CLOSING A CHAPTER ALISON POWELL
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Hospital hallways have always been so cold to me. It is because the low temperature helps to kill bacteria. But on August 25th 2006, another thought came to mind; maybe the cold was to keep the recently deceased bodies preserved until they were ambulated to the morgue, like my mother’s. When I turned into the waiting room, all eyes fell on me and immediately the mourning began. My aunt Teresa held me so tight I thought I would lose my breath and she let out a moan of despair. My brothers held my hand and looked catatonic. I think we all kind of did. “You don’t have to do this Alison, you can just go home and take care of your baby, I know this is stressful” Said my little brother. He was always her favorite. “I’m fine.” I said. My older brother looked at me concerned and held my shoulder. His eyes were lost and he was not sure what to say. I looked back at him and tried to change the topic, “Are Aunt Betty and them on the way from Miami?” “Yeah, I think so.” “Oh ok, you should call them and see where they are at, I’m sure they aren’t going to hold her here much longer.” He knew I was bullshitting something to ease his mind. He nodded and left. The nurse slowly walked me to the room where I would see her for the first time since her failed heart bypass surgery. I wasn’t entirely sure on the specifics, but word was she slowly bled to death. God. We passed by multiple recovering patients on
our way, hugging and kissing their loved ones. Jealous. I told my brother I was fine but to be honest I was still recovering from when they told me mom had died. It was only 8am at that point, but I was still exhausted. The thoughts from 3am that same morning when I learned of her passing were flooding me. I vaguely remember my husband picking me up from the floor, I sort of remember my mother-in-law showing up at my house embracing me crying just as hard. But the feeling of that part of my soul ripping out had the strongest hold of me. I thought “Seriously, how long is this walk going to be?” When we finally reached the room, the nurse turned towards me and said “Honey, do you need me to stay?” “No, I don’t want anyone with me.” She gave me a small nod and walked away. I looked into the room. There were still wires hanging everywhere. The bed looked small and there was an inflatable blanket covering her body. There was a small chair next to her bed. I guess everyone had come to look at her before she had to go get embalmed. I sat in the chair and pulled the blanket down to her neck. She technically still looked the same, just asleep. Her lips were almost in a pursed pose and the wrinkles in the corner of her eyes told me the story of the fight she had lost. “Still warm, mom?” I said as I placed my hand under hers. I looked around really quick to make sure nobody was around. I didn’t need anyone seeing me talk to a dead body. But when a parent dies, you realize there’s just so much more you want to say. “Mom I
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just got married 2 months ago, I just had a baby and I’m only 18 years old and I really need you to wake up right now. Please wake up.” Nothing. “Jesus, I need one of those miracles you read about. Make it like that one where we thought she was dead but hours later she took a shallow breath. Please.” I lowered my ear to her mouth, I felt for a radial pulse, I watched her eyelids for a flicker. But God had made up his mind and took her. I had to back my chair away, nearly sliding across the entire room, and examine her for just a second more. I was desperate and scared and I knew this meant that my brothers would leave me to return to Miami, while I stayed here in Georgia with my new family. At that moment, I had to accept this life change. I stood up and walked back over to my mother’s body. I leaned down and kissed her cheek and told her “I’m going to make sure your grandbaby gets to go to Disney World. I have the outfit you bought him and he will wear it. I’m going to keep all pictures of you mom so he knows who you are, I am so sorry if I was not the best daughter. I will be the best woman I can be, I’m going to be just like you. I am going to be strong and work hard and keep my wits and humor. I promise I am going to take care of my health, too. If you can, come visit me in my dreams sometime, you know I am a vivid dreamer. I have to go now, I love you so so so much.” But I still stood there. My eyes were fixed on her almond shaped eyes and full lips we share. It made me think of when I went walking around the block, how her friend Mark would
always spot me and say “Hey, little Teoni!” So now I thought I’d look like a ghost. I stood in the doorway easing myself out, making peace with her being gone and thinking of all trips we had taken; she was an avid traveler. I remembered her smile on top of the Eiffel tower and her flirtatious nature with the Hawaiian dancers, I could remember her trying to pull aside their grass skirts asking “Boxers or banana hammock?” and they would turn red and smile from ear to ear at her. One time, she made my brothers and I take a Jack the Ripper tour in London and got us lost on the way back to the hotel at night. I really thought she would die from laughter that night watching my brothers and I leap across an alleyway we came upon. I began to get down again until I remembered something she had said when she was in the hospital ready to have this surgery, she said “If I die, I’m going to send you the lottery numbers.” I chuckled and shook my head thinking of how crazy she could be sometimes. I left the room with hands in my pockets. It was still cold, but that was just for microbial control. My pace was not so sluggish anymore and I took a big breath and exhaled. I looked up from watching my feet go to see the recovering patients again sitting upright, talking to their families and kissing their grandchildren’s cheeks. I smiled.
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NICOLE KELLEY
SUFFOCATING SILENCE
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Goodbye my happy demeanor. Hello well-known self-loathing. Maybe I’ll finally suffocate myself with all of my black clothing. I feel like I’m trapped in a vacuum talking to myself. No matter what I ask of you, you keep it to yourself. It didn’t last long this time; Only a month or so. But it was just long enough for this obsession to grow. Goodbye my happy demeanor. Hello well-known self-loathing. Maybe I’ll finally suffocate myself with all of my black clothing. I realize I’m a bit crazy, and I don’t blame you for giving up. I just wish you’d broken my heart cleanly. I’ve honestly had enough. You still won’t respond to me, and at this point I give up. I want to snap your neck in two. I’m sick of giving a f***. Goodbye my happy demeanor. Hello well-known self-loathing. Maybe I’ll finally suffocate myself with all of my black clothing.
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Michael Serine
FAYTHE CHOATE
THE REPUBLIC 40
The fortitude of the Republic – strong, unyielding emanates cleanly, cut from stone, yet boundless and possible. Does it know its end, despite vice and virtuosity, the conquering spirit of time long passed – the withering protrusions prompting scant signals of unrest? There, in the claw lay the decrepit, the bridled, the worn. And they fought on through the war, enveloped and un-mastered by the ridiculing present, the fleeting bred to the unharrowed, the remains as a prominent declaration: domination. The elegant fall of a mass, a crafted downfall, held proudly in the prospectively conceited eye. The primordial confines – though few do not expel the hubris of the vanquishing spirit.
MY BEST FRIEND
KELLY HATCHER
THE INKWELL
Back when I was a little girl, my mem used to do my hair in curls. She was my best friend and I was hers, when I thought she ruled the world. We would always play and have so much fun, we would dance until the rising sun. My mem has always been there for me, even when I would find myself in misery.
When she had no reason to have a smile on her face, she refused to give up on grace. My meme was and still is such a beautiful and brave soul, her heart will never grow old. Thinking back to all the memories made, not one will ever fade. She was my best friend and I was hers, when I thought she ruled the world.  
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GAIL LAWSON
LOOKING INTO THE EYES OF LOVE
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As they gazed at the stars above, Slowly they turned. They looked into each other’s eyes. Immediately they knew It was love. They would later find out What true love is really all about. Love is not always a bed of roses. It’s like a door that opens and closes. Soon after, vows were exchanged Their love for each other Was very strong. Fifty years later, as they gaze at the stars, The true love they found remains the same.
TWO DAYS
GARRETT PAYNE
THE INKWELL
Five days a week you go to work, But only two days to enjoy yourself. Five days you are taken away from your quirk. Once you are in the home stretch, you are closer to your goal. The day is finally here when you can do anything. Nothing is around to hold you back. Now, the weekend plans allow you to enjoy everything Before you go to the regular track. But before you go back you have all your shows to watch. Which one will you choose? Will your weekend be a win or a botch? It doesn’t matter what happens just make the best of it. The weekend is over and time to Venture back. Back to the week day, To work again.  
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Michael Serine
JENNY
I found my love on the 27th of March. Her beauty is so inspiring. She is as lovely as the Heaven’s Arch. My body continues on perspiring. Her hair so long and blonde, Her smile as lovely as a beach. How could I not be “oh so fond”? And she came near I just had to reach, Stretching as she came close. Just to hold her tight. I pull her in and kiss her nose As she beamed with sweet delight. I knew right then that she was for me. I thank God every day for my wife, Jenny.
HEATH BRINSON
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SUNSET ON MEXICO BEACH Rachel Lee Glover
CONQUEST
THE INKWELL
KESHA BROWN
Not a sound in the darkened brush, Yet red eyes gleam with a thirsty lust. Prowling, seeking, always on the hunt, sometimes for revenge, others for fun.
At last! Some movement just out of reach, now is the time to jump and leap. Out of the brush with a thunderous clop The centaur pounces with a powerful gallop. Catching his prey by surprise, allowing him to see the fire in his eyes. Nowhere to run, no one is safe. Say a prayer, they know it’s too late. With one mighty thud it is done, Man is defeated, Centaur has won. Standing proudly over his latest quest Centaur relaxes and finally rests. The Centaur holds his head up high, a gleaming sparkles in his eye, as he heads off to journey afar on his quest to fight and win this war.  
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KATHRYN BURKE
LOVE IS 48
Love is the touch of your hand on a cold winter’s night knowing that you are still there when you are out of my sight. Love is the whisper of your voice in the back of my neck, feeling safe when my world is a wreck. You love me at my best and you love me at my worst, in your world I’ve always come first. When the world stops spinning and the flames die down I turn to look for you but you are nowhere around. Love is knowing that you’ll never there. It’s knowing I’ll miss the smell of your hair. Love is weakness, bitter and cold. Love is knowing that together we’ll never grow old. The seasons have changed and world spins around, but the love that we’ve known falls to the ground. Love is cruel and it knows no fear. Most of all love is wishing you were here.
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Michael Serine
THE NOVEMBER
FOREST SKYLER COLLINS
The air was cold and smelled strongly of damp timber and wet soil. Warm golden sunlight filtered in through the canopy, the golden rays further illuminating the autumn reds, yellows and browns. The ancient maples towered overhead. A single golden leaf fluttered down lazily in the cool November breeze; blown this way and that with no real sense of urgency. The vibrant colored leaves covering the ground were swept up now and then in the soft breeze, swirling around before coming to rest once more on the nearly frozen ground. Somewhere near, a stream murmured softly. The warm mid-afternoon sunlight caused the water to sparkle like thousands of tiny diamonds. The water itself was cold, almost frozen, but not quite. The icy water flowed gently over rocks and stones of all sizes and colors; they had been worn smooth by the continuous flow of water. The cool water splashed gently against the banks of the stream as if eager to escape. I stood in the icy water atop one of the larger stones and let my adolescent imagination
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roam free. I pretended that, for a moment, the large stone was my throne and forest was my kingdom. I let myself believe I was the only living thing for miles, even though, beneath the noise of the stream, the forest was bustling with life. I could hear it all around me if I listened hard enough. I could hear the gentle fluttering of wings and the lingering call of nightingales and northern mocking birds resonate throughout the massifs; the soft bodies of the birds darting to and fro as they collected nuts and berries for dinner. I could hear the occasional splashes of the wild brook trout making their way upstream. I could hear the soft chattering of the chestnut colored squirrels collecting the last of their provisions for the impending winter. I could hear the gentle scuffing of deer hooves as they crept cautiously through the horde of tri-colored maples, not wanting to be seen. I could hear the rusting of rabbits scurrying through the leaves on the forest floor, avoiding prey and predator alike. I could hear them, even if I couldn’t see them.
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I followed the soft fluttering of the birds in hopes of catching a glimpse of their beautiful pale feather. I angled my head to the canopy to see if perhaps I could catch sight of a bird. When I gave up the endeavor, I turned my eyes to the ground. The autumn leaves crunched and crackled beneath my feet. The last of the remaining wildflowers swayed in the breeze. The soft gurgling of the stream seemed softer then before as I made my way across the forest floor. I was completely enamored with the scenery as I Instinctively followed a well-worn path towards an unknown destination. The maples seemed to part, permitting the path to end at its destination: a meadow.
In this place, the damp air smelled of wet grass and sweet soil. The warm sunlight caressed my wind chapped cheeks. The languid breeze retuned and the grass rustled softly as it swept over the meadow creating a swell. Various types of swallowtails and monarch butterflies danced around, filling their stomachs with the sweet nectar of the lilac and cream colored wildflowers. I wanted to delve deeper into the meadow but the faint call of my name led me back to the soft gurgling stream. I took one last look at the vibrant leaves and dazzling stream before following the voice back home.
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CENTOS
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This is my letter to the world one narcissus among the ordinary beautiful once, in summer traveling through the dark I found a deer I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea the grey sea and the long black land with the wind and the weather beating round me there is stillness in this chilly night the Storm came so suddenly come with the rain. O loud Southwester!  
A SUMMER’S DAY
SKYE HINTEREGGER
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TRISTEN GOODMAN
THE SECRET DARKNESS 56
All I know is a door into the dark once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, although she feeds me bread of bitterness I know exactly what I want to say “Faith is a fine invention” What is our innocence, there are no words to describe this saying good-bye on the edge of the dark as I ponder’d in silence, pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
MATHEW BYRON DEEN
A CHEERLESS CENTO FOR THE LOST
THE INKWELL
Nothing but hurt here I could get lost on this black acre I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow thou two faced year, Mother of change and fate I must be mad or very tired with nothing left to harvest death, departure, walks away, walk out I want to die when by thy scorn, O murderess, I am dead doesn’t anyone care for an old, old man?
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TY COCHRAN
THIS WAR OF MINE 58
When a man starts out with nothing, he stands tall united as a band we will march. With its cloud of skirmishers in advance before us great Death stands in the war where many men fell time is so long when a man is dead! War is never over for saving grace, we didn’t see our dead, I, too, dislike it.  
LOVE OF MY LIFE
CHRISTIAN BOSTICK
THE INKWELL
She walks in beauty, like the night My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; sometimes when I lay on your warm chest laying underneath the stars, I have a Bird in spring a child is born! Lighter out enormous anchors to the svelte pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I see you in my thoughts and dreams, the day you came into my life will be cherished always.  
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RHETTA WEEKS
THE SEA BESIDE 60
I looked and saw a sea wider than one once envisioned, deeper and deeper, gaze by gaze. It is my mother’s voice you hear hoping for a mirror, a whisper, insight. And this feels painfully beautiful descending into the depths; rising almost imperceptibly, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. It belongs to no one, like the sea you once lived beside. There is absolutely nothing lonelier.  
TO SEE ME BROKEN
SAMANTHA ARWOOD
THE INKWELL
The burn, the burned, the burning. The moon and the flower, below the surface. Honor the power of fire. The knife in your hand, I dig my nails into my sides. We sat together at one summer’s end, I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, of spirit and of passion born; did you want to see me broken?  
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EMILY DUKES
I REMEMBER RISING 62
Traveler, your footprints on journeys through the states we start, far-fetched with tales of other worlds and ways like the Magi, the journey we make in life is long and hard. I remember rising one night in the grey wastes of dread, when I weekly knew a few museums florid painting by unknown across the wide seas.  
FREEDOM
JORDAN NEWBERRY
THE INKWELL
America! America! Oh! How shall I speak of my country’s shame? When a Negro comes in question there’s discrimination shown. But still persecuted, like the feminist females. Ashamed, people turned their faces away freedom praised, but hid; that’s why discrimination reigns. As prisoned birds must find in freedom, obliterate the word obey and freedoms light shall never die!
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AUSTIN MIMS
TOO HOT THE EYE 64
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, two joined abeyances become a term along with me ride, the moon and tide how pure, how dear their dwelling-place. It’s good to be lost among pillars of grass. Morn’s budding, bright, melodious hour comes sweetly as of yore; dark drew all the light from my eyes. Seems lak to me der’s nothing going right, I am life You are Life We are Life.
I feel like a puzzle I used to wonder how if ever two were one, then surly we not everyone is so skilled it was many and many a year ago my true-love hath my heart, and I have his thoughts of you surround me the grey sea and the long black land; Come to me in my dreams, and then I have been one acquainted with the night.
THE PUZZLE OF LOVE
NATALIE SMITH
THE INKWELL
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MEGAN STANLEY
TO MASK 66
We wear the mask that grins and lies. They love the mask, but I can’t breathe through its lies. This girl, she’s crying inside, but all everyone sees is smiles. Don’t be fooled by me. They think they know me all so well. I want to unravel their smiles of perfection. O woman greatly gifted! Why? Shall I be one, of those obsequious Fools! You meaner beauties of the night; I wanted to punch her right in the mouth and that’s the truth.
Ren and Cal’s lives may be torrid under the wide starry sky go and catch a falling star, they soul shall find itself alone when night is almost done, the birds are in their trees, the way a crow ah vastness of pines, murmer of waves breaking, the sea is calm tonight. I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
IF I ONLY HAD WINGS
AMANDA COTHERN
THE INKWELL
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LOVE AND OTHER DISASTERS
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That little girl was as pretty as one could be But oh so bossy to everyone she could see. Those big blue eyes looking up at me So loving and trusting Batting and beaming As long as she got her way. She was always so happy And just wanted to play. She loved her tea set, Then she wanted to be a majorette.
MY DAUGHTER
ENGLA CARTER
THE INKWELL
Time passed, I watched her grow, The arrow of love pierced her heart, It was time for her to start her life as a wife. Then a mom she came to be, four boys she had Then her mind went mad. She has lost her way right now and it is really sad. Oh where, oh where did my daughter go? I want to know.
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ENGLA CARTER
GOING BACK
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It seems like yesterday You could go everywhere And do anything at all. You could throw and catch a ball, You never worried about a fall. So young and vibrant You felt invincible. What blissful days When you were so nimble. Not believing your mind would dwindle, Or your body would become feeble. Then you got older, Those aches and pains came, They made you feel lame. Invisible you felt you had became. Nobody remembers the way you were, Now they only call you sir. If only you could go back and have another run On this track of life instead of wondering whats going to happen in my afterlife?
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Michael Serine
RACHEL LEE GLOVER
COME THOU FOUNT OF EVERY BLESSING
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In the church library, You always take the best seat. You sit in the recliner Next to the peppermints on the table. Tune my heart My heart is broken; Torn in half. I had dreams of us. Dreams of what could have been. Dreams of you and wished-for children Playing baseball in the yard. Dreams that are now a silent, black stallion Large and menacing, My shadow. I watch you from the back pew. I know we can never be together. I see your happiness with her. You smile. I’m heartbroken it couldn’t be for me. I weep tears of grief for what never was. I weep tears of joy for what you have. I went up to you Told you how I feel. I gave you my heart. You took it and crushed it, Streams of mercy never ceasing. Without knowing the cost. I lost hopes and dreams, And nearly my sanity.
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I see you with her Sitting on the dark-stained pews. The pews that separate us Like a deep and vast ocean. It’s all I can do to keep my tears From staining the gray carpet. I wished on stars In the soybean field. My dog is with me. I wished you would see me as I see you. Singing “Come Thou Fount” Those wishes are gone. Fount of every blessing. My only wish, I wish it was me.
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MARY KERSEY
MY PAIN 76
Love is Pain or Pain is Love The ripping and tearing I feel inside is like a torch of love or pain. It makes me hurt and you can see it on my face. This pain that pulls at my soul, is it love? Is love suppose to be this painful? The hurt is deep inside. I want to scream while I cry for you! I get down on my knees and plead to God to stop this aching and burning. The pounding and pulling, the breaking of my heart is too much to bare. I do not want to feel at all! Please stop this agony of love or pain in my soul! Lord, I give it all to you, all of me. I ask for your forgiveness, and I thank you for each breath. I give you thanks for all the love, pain, tears, joy, hurt, and loss. You are my comfort from the storms of my past and present! You are my comfort of this whole life I have lived! Bring forth your loving hand and take me away to a place of freedom from this earthly pain. From this life I pledge to go with eyes wide open and understanding this is the path you laid. Take me home to love that is not pain so that I may watch over my love here on earth. My husband, My pain!
NEVER TO LOVE
HEATHER LINO
THE INKWELL
You creeped up on me, I swore never to love. Our friendship grew fast just like the love in my heart. A trip took me away from you; but I was excited for my vacation to start. We did call and text; but soon that was not enough. I missed your smile, your smell, and craved your touch! I enjoyed my trip; but being away from you was extremely rough. That time apart showed me I loved you, oh so much! My first day back, you kissed me long and deep. I could feel your heart hammer and hear mine hum in my head. You said, “I love you.� I knew then you were mine to keep. I became yours and only yours when you had me in your bed. I love you Jordan, always and forever. My heart beats for you Jordan, always and forever.
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JOANA RUSSELL
HOW TO: 78
I am learning to love the man Who lives inside my father’s body. The erudite scholar, Philosopher, reduced to incoherent Babbles and whimpers. The higher power he served Betraying us all, in A cruel twisted joke of fate. A lesson learned. I am learning to love this man Who smiles at me, Once as his child, often As a pretty face, a kind caretaker. His beautiful childlike sense of Humor, close to what my Father had. This man who is afraid And begs the only God he knows For a little more time. I am learning to love a man I feared, with plastic wires in Every opening, giving him life… Or taking it. Someone I thought I had lost When I folded under heavy sobs Being wrung from me like Dirty water from a rag. I don’t know where my Father lives now. In Heaven Or Hell or some place in Between. His soul lost in That sickening vacuum, dragging His mind and body slowly Behind. But right now I am learning to love a man Who asked me today to Please pray.
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Michael Serine
POP CULTURE SKYLER COLLINS
The heaviness that settled in the murky room sent chills racing down my spine. Light filtered in through the closed blinds but only enough to cast a soft glow. Rays of light streaked across the mirror in front of me. Years of dust coated its reflective surface but I hardly noticed. The dim glow of the light had found my eyes. I stared at them in the mirror. The shock of seeing the vibrant colors in my eyes, the green, brown, yellows, and blueish grays that swirled and mixed still stands out in my memory. I vaguely remember thinking that my eyes looked like hot tea just seconds after pouring in the milk; the mixing and swirling of the colors so disproportionately dispersed. My gaze shifted down, down, down; taking in every aspect of my reflection from the golden curls of my hair, to prominent collarbones, to the mass of muscle in my calves. I could feel the warmth trekking down my cheeks without looking. ‘Beautiful..’ It had taken five long years to be able to look into a mirror and not resign with what I saw; analyzing every minute detail of my appearance. It took five long years to be able to look into a mirror and find nothing wrong with me. I was twelve when I became hyperaware of my body image. It started with Her. She was tall and thin. Her hair was long, flowing, straight, and beautiful. Her skin was clear and held the perfect golden tan. Her teeth were bright and white. And her eyes were a shocking shade of icy blue. In short, this woman was nothing like me. This woman was ‘the ideal body type!’ according to the magazine I held in my pale hands. Whereas I was short, around 5 feet tall, and
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well overweight, this woman was closer to five feet seven inches and “healthy”. Her hair was golden and straight; mine was muddy and frizzy. She was a golden goddess with the skin to match and I had a severe case of acne covering the majority of my pale face. Her teeth were the color of freshly fallen snow but mine were the color of years of caffeine addiction. She had vibrant ice blue eyes set behind a fan of long wispy lashes while I had eyes the color of dirty lake water set behind short and clumpy lashes. In short, this woman and her ‘ideal body type’ made me feel inadequate. If she was the ‘ideal body type’, then what was I? The un-ideal body type? I began to notice these ‘ideal body types’ more often and, oh, how often they appeared. Thin, athletic, perfect women appeared everywhere I looked. They were in the magazines I read and in the movies, television shows, and music videos I watched. They were in every conversation, every thought, and every action I had. Hideous thoughts injected themselves into my life. If I could be like Her, people would like me. If I could be like Her, I could be happy. I knew thoughts like these were perilous, but I could not help but have them. How could I? This was pop culture. It was everywhere and I could not escape it. I would see myself in mirrors, reflections, pictures, or videos and feel unsightly. I read all the articles and I tried all the tricks. But I never ‘lost five pounds in five days’ or ‘burned 650 calories fast and easy’. The ‘100 easiest dieting tricks’ were a joke. I could never ‘look just like (insert famous female celebrity) in just five simple
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steps’. My curls were unmanageable; no amount of fine oils or serums could give me ‘heat-less flat and straight hair’. My skin was sensitive and ProActive only made my acne worse. Crest 3D White Strips never stayed on and only made my mouth salivate to the point where I was drooling all over the place. It took five years to realize that what I was attempting to obtain was a lie, but by then the damage had been done. But I was determined to reverse the damage. Pop culture also turned out to be my redeemer. Around the time I began trying to fix the damage I had caused, a movement had started. This movement was aimed at body positivity. Women and men around the world were posting pictures of themselves on social media accepting and embracing their imperfections. Some of my favorites included curvaceous women wearing dresses that they ‘wouldn’t have had the courage to wear a year ago’ and men who did not have the rock hard six packs or the chiseled pecks and sharp jawlines but felt comfortable and in love with their bodies. Mass media and pop culture embraced this movement. Celebrities began to speak out and refused to be photoshoped. Social media became a safe haven for me. I could find and connect with people who shared my same struggle. It allowed me to open a dialogue with my friends and parents about how I felt. It helped me to heal. Of course there will always be shaming because it is the internet and people feel bolder behind a computer screen. But social media corporations have made it eas-
ier to block and report these kinds of people. People are becoming educated and aware of the problem with displaying emaciated men and women as healthy and the negative affect it is having on the youth of the nation. The media parades around photoshoped men and women as if they are pleased and healthy being forty pounds underweight or addicted to Xanax to maintain that happy facade. Teenagers see their idols and aspire to look and be like them, not knowing how unhealthy and dangerous it is. When their body cannot look like that of their idol, simply because that body type does not actually exist, they diet even harder, take even more drugs, become even more obsessed to the point that it kills them. If ‘video killed the radio star’ in the eighties; then pop culture will kill the teenager in the twenty-tens. The heaviness that settled in the murky room lifted. The light that filtered in through the closed blinds seemed to glow brighter. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My gaze shifted up, up, up; past the mass of muscle in my calves, past my prominent collarbones, and back up to the golden curls of my hair. I wiped away the salty tracks that clung to my skin before deeming myself ready. It was the night of my eighteenth birthday, and I had a party to attend.
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JOANA RUSSELL
SLOWLY 82
There was no way to prepare. I was not ready. No one told me what it feels like. No one can. And yet, here I am. My aunts’ perfume mixes with the whizzing vapors circling the silent room. The upright grand piano leans quietly on the back wall Stripped of any former glory With water rings and dust scarring the surface of the warped wood. Let me take one more moment in this room. The bumps on my skin rise in waves. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Twenty years is a long time to wait to see that stranger’s face. The mailbox has been empty for years. Let me take one more moment before I wrap my arms around her and Feel my shoulder dampen and tremble under the Weight of that passed time. I love you, too. Why now? Do you blame me for wondering? What good have your prayers ever done? I’m sorry I don’t believe too. I think I used to. I can’t remember. I can hear the gasps going in to the room. I do not recognize the voices on the other side of the wall. I can hear the shaky breaths coming out of the room. I can feel the prayers and hopelessness. Let me take one moment before I go back with a fresh bag for the bin. He’s doing okay. Still fighting. Thanks for asking. The room feels red. But everything is going to be okay, I hear. There are words for how I feel but I am not Allowed to speak. The gaping space makes every sound bloat and echo. Let me take one moment before I have to smile again. Thank you for the meal.
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My shirt is still wrinkled and I can see shadows Darken under my eyes. I forgot to sweep the floors again and I can’t find any peace. Three years is a long time to say goodbye. Where were you? When we speak I feel the sandglass balance And the grains stop moving, and it feels like I won’t have to worry About asking how to make the perfect sauce or writing down your favorite joke. I live in this second. I’ve been here for a long time. It seems so strange to feel a pain that you have only ever seen. But they’re here now, so it’s real now And home is the only place to be. Before, I could pretend. And I could see his hair, so I thought That meant everything was Fine. Let me take one moment to forget And to remember, As history occupies the present just for now. There are flowers on the table. It helps when you don’t want to think. This can’t be what everyone feels when this happens. How has anyone survived? Let me take one moment to dry my cheeks before church. It’s good to see you, too. I am stiffened lace and I know it won’t be much longer now. Let me take one moment, one final moment To try to swallow Before it all ends. And the chaos, and the silence, the stifled laughter, and how he squeezes my hand Is all new, and It’s time to start again.
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SIERRA LEMCKE
HEARTS OF LOVERS
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You make that fire which consumes the hearts of lovers As they yearn to seek out their beloved. By nightfall, they sneak through the shadows of the courts, And in the private chambers to divulge their intimate secrets. By day, their hearts yearn to be reunited and made whole. They wait for the allotted time to finally arrive, They are dressed in their clean, white garments. They stand upon the stage where they finally Stare into each others eyes and….. Whisper, “I do.”
I give it all to you, for all you do, and all you are. When the keys to the engine do not work, I bow my head and pray. You show me that you never lurk, reassure me I’ll be okay. When the tunnel shows no sign of light and I feel all alone, I find you in the dark of night and suddenly I feel at home. I give it all to you, for all you do, and all you are.
I GIVE IT ALL TO YOU
When the tide decides to get rough you help adjust the sails. When I can no longer see the light, your love always prevails. Before I go to sleep at night I glance up at the stars, your world is such a beautiful sight, I’m reminded of who you are.
BROOKE FRANTZ
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ALONZO TUCKER
I AM A MOON 86
Moon lights brighten the night as I look at the moon as the sky lights I am a moon I am a sky Look for the moon so soon I see racoons dancing, I am a moon I am a sky Funny I thought of a bunny instead it was the racoons interacting with the moon I am a moon I am a sky  
I missed you like Joni Mitchell missed Woodstock – with a song stuck blue like a cigarette in my teeth, still speaking to you still writing to you only.
ON 1,000 MILES DISTANCE
CAROLINE WEEKS
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BIRDIE’S STORY JESSICA MCDANIEL
Birdie the chicken came into the world early one September morning, I would not have even noticed had he not let out a small meager peep as I passed by his incubator. Shining a light into the incubator’s dark hull I saw a small hole in the side of his egg, and then his beak protruding. Birdie’s birth was a bit unconventional, it normally takes the average chick somewhere between two to six hours to fully hatch, but Birdie was taking nearly twenty-four. A chicken egg contains many membranes, the most notable of which is between the shell and chick itself. If this membrane becomes too dry the chick will be unable to hatch, as the egg tooth at the end of their beak cannot make a ‘pip’ through the shell. Unfortunately for Birdie, his membrane was bone dry. Birdie’s hatching fully fell into my hands once I realized his predicament. Normally one should never interfere with a chick hatching, as the yolk sack may not be fully absorbed into the chick’s abdomen, a requirement for the chick to survive outside it’s shell, however if the chick is experiencing a dry membrane the hatcher has no choice. Carefully I pulled back the eggshell, exposing the dried membrane. Using a Q-tip I moistened the white plastic-like layer covering Birdie with warm water. The membrane instantly became translucent and I could see him squirm underneath. I rolled him over and found where his beak had made a tiny perforation in the outer layer. Using my fingernails I pulled the membrane back exposing his head, now securely tucked under his wing. I nuzzled his head with the tip of my finger and he turned towards me letting out a gasp and a peep. Using the same method of peeling I removed the rest of the outer layer, exposing Birdie to the world. From there he was returned to his incubator for the next twenty four hours to fluff and rest.
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Birdie, like his mother before him, is the friendliest chicken I’ve ever known. Though wary of strangers at first, it doesn’t take long for him to warm up to others. Chicks do not usually imprint on people, and assume from a young age that they are indeed chickens and people are people; this isn’t the case for Birdie. Birdie has always looked at me as mom, following me around everywhere and looking towards me for food and affection. Birdie even goes as far as perching on my shoulder, a fun party trick indeed. One of Birdie’s favorite things is lying down in my lap after a large meal. He dozes off and even begins to dream, twitching his legs every now and again. As Birdie got older he quickly outgrew his nest box. I would often come home to him perched on the rim of the Tupperware bin in a mock roosting motion. While this little practice of is was humorous, it was not conducive to confining him to a certain space. Birdie’s home was upgraded to a wire rabbit cage, which he loved. I placed him in the living room, where he spent his day watching television. He would often tweet during long pauses on the TV programs, as if wondering what was wrong. Because Birdie’s mother was a Cornish Rock, his birth rate far surpasses that of other chickens; so he soon outgrew his rabbit cage as well. Now that he was covered in fluffy white down he was old enough to venture outside. I set up a covered playpen and introduced him the outside world. Birdie was fascinated by grass, often scratching and pecking at it. He would live another three weeks in this playpen before he was ready to move to his final home. Birdie had been slowly introduced the rest of the family flock, who quickly established a pecking order and placed Birdie in it accordingly. He was not at all interested in other chickens, rather, he wanted to continue to follow me around. He has lived amongst his own kind for three days now, but still comes running when I arrive. I look forward to his company, as nothing is better than to read with a rooster curled up on your lap, something that most people sadly do not get to experience.
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A WALK TO REMEMBER SHANNON BELL
People follow many paths over the course of a life. Many never seem to pause and enjoy the simple pleasure nature has bestowed on us. We catapult ourselves into stress laden lives seldom considering the peace and serenity we crave already exists. You just have to tread the right path. I found such a path at Reed Bingham State Park. A set of stone columns mark the transition from rubber tires and asphalt interstates into bare feet and backroads. Immediately through the rock pillared cornerstones whispering longleaf pines sway in the breeze. The checker boarded Red-headed Woodpeckers telegraph their drumming beats across the forest. Song birds recite their repertoires, relaying your presence in their midst. As you make your way along, you begin to descend toward the river. A boardwalk takes over the rocky path and lifts you up above the seasonally flooded wetlands. The air is skin refreshingly cool here. Muscle wood trees with sinewy rippled trunks and bark shedding river birches stand arm in arm with the Buttressed Bald Cypresses creating a canopy, to shelter would be travelers. Resurrection fern covers the bark of the hardwoods reviving to life after every shower. They add a fringe of tasseled adornment to the wooden giants. Water Tupelo standing alongside the banks of the river release their pollen for nectar producing Honey Bees. Ogeechee Lime hangs low burdened by its sour fruit. Breaks in the wooden columns along the river allow for overlooks. 90
These stops provide a pause to fully engage your senses. Fragrant honeysuckle and the aroma of Wild Azealia’s waft through the forest intertwining and entertaining the senses. Viewing perches protrude out into the river revealing sun basking alligators and wood ducks peeking out of volunteer made boxes to watch kayakers and canoer’s paddling the black water river. The nature experience goes full tilt as the boardwalk delivers you to earthen banks along the river’s edge, where Turkey Vultures circle the winding river bringing carrion back for their young. Pterodactyl sized, the vultures seem to float effortlessly, staying aloft with only occasional wingbeats. The rivers banks cry out for backsides and fishing poles, Red Wigglers and Catfish rolls. Grudgingly the river lets go. The trail gradually meanders away. Two Red Mulberry trees welcome the trail back. Their leaves resembling a design of kingly rule, like trellised musical notes in the kings symphony. A flame seems to flicker at the apex of the leaves while the tree mulls the day over. As the trail wanders gently from the river the forest gradually transitions from wetland to upland. Seamlessly merging the habitats from water tolerating species back to the towering upland trees. You make your way across the dam of an ephemeral pond. Water weeps from the hillside filling the reservoir for all manner of moisture loving species to bathe themselves. The crystal clear spring fed water supports lilies resting on its surface, their petals worshipping rays that penetrate the canopy. Filtered beams break the
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mirrored surface and illuminate another world of distracted aquatic organisms enjoying their own biosphere. Along the upland ridge the scent of Crushed Cherry Laurel leaves float along the path, as nature produces its own air freshener. Sensory overload starts to creep in as you continue along the winding ridge. The historic Hickory’s and Majestic Magnolia’s tower above you, sustaining your serotonin levels. Their size reveal decades, if not centuries past. Peace and solitude warms the soul and frees the spirit among these holders of history. The path transitions back into the Longleaf Pine habitat. A place where fire dependent species, like Wire grass, Gopher Tortoises, Northern Bobwhite Quail, and Turkey prevail. Here White Tail Deer, Eastern Wild Turkey, and flushed coveys of Northern Bobwhite Quail may peak your visual curiosity. One of our keystone species the Gopher Tortoise, burrows and provides shelter for a number of species. Digging burrows up to 10 feet deep and 40 foot long. The terrestrial digs are reminiscence of pre-settlement times. Reed Bingham oozes nature at every tree, stump and log. The confluence of nature here transcends man’s attempt to realize a homo-sapiens constructed utopia. Unaltered remnants of beauty like these, are detoxifying to our spirits. We are a part of this natural history and here we can find the benefits of walking with nature. Your spirit will be freed and your soul satisfied on this path of retrospective representation, Reed Bingham State Park. 91
ENGLA CARTER
THE CHOICE 92
Why so much violence and strife in this life. Voices want to be heard but then anger is stirred, And wars are spurred. Lines are drawn and people become pawns. The media wants you to see only what they want you to believe. They have a motive to make you explosive. Its plain to me why people go on killing sprees. In the sixties it was all about civil rights, which caused all those fights. In the seventies it was all about the Watergate tapes that caused Nixon a major scrape. In the eighties it was Reagan that made the United States a haven. In the nineties it was Clinton and what he was getting. Monica Lewinski was the name and Bill was all about his game. In the millennium pure scum using only their thumbs crashed into our world trade center And made all Americans bitter. In 2008 Barak Obama became the first biracial president to be elected. The economy became wretched. The recession begun and the middle class is full of duns. Here we are in 2016, getting ready for another election year. But the two we have to choose from are both racketeers.
Don’t take life for granted because it doesn’t last as long as you might think. One day you are walking along happy and cheerful. Then, the next day you are sad and fearful. Each day brings joy and tears. Now, most days are bringing pills and rolling from exam to exam. Rooms on wheels. Then it’s time to change from bed to bed, and you can barely lift your head. The Doctor stands with his hands in his pockets while you sit in fear and grip a beautiful silver locket. You ask yourself, “What is happening?” in this room where everyone’s face is glowing with doom. No smiles, no teeth, just waterfalls rolling down brown cheeks, as we all stare in one direction. “It can’t be happening, again,” I say. This just happened in less than a year, But remember and never forget your life has no definite amount of days.
HOW LONG IS LIFE
THELMA HORNE
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AUSHIKA DAWSON1
DO ALL LIVES MATTER?
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Alone and lost in this war on race every time I turn around, there is another black life lost. Tension is rising, anger and rage sworn to serve without malice or ill-will when can we say “Not all cops are bad?” When the killers are the ones dressed in blue? We pray for peace, we ask for justice, but yet again a black man is killed. Judgment day will come for you. God said in His word “Thou shall not kill.” Unfortunately for you, you could not keep His will. Repentance, something you did not do, now ask yourself, “Do all lives really matter?”
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DRIFTWOOD Rachel Lee Glover
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PINE FOREST IN DIXIE Rachel Lee Glover
ADDITION
SAMANTHA ARWOOD
THE INKWELL
It’s the maladjusted misconceptions you truly do believe, So I’ll hold your hair up, because it is shorter, while you choke and while you heave. You’ll throw out my glass of water, and reach again under the couch because you know where you can find it, and just can’t do without it. As the stagnancy fills your veins it is 3 percent and slowly thriving, So choke on your addiction again, I feel my own vomit rising. And the tears I in my eyes inspire the bulk of my disguise. The words that leave your calloused mouth only mold and putrefy. Evil concepts you believe, you tell yourself the worst of lies. And the silence seems so loud, but even louder are your cries for attention, for new love. But Love, O for how long have you cried? How long before that wretched beast is finally satisfied?
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SUNSET ON LAKE BLACKSHEAR Rachel Lee Glover
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Sydney Siddell