The Mot mot

1. Waterloo by James Castle
2. The Gorilla by Antonio Chinchilla
3. The Predator by Charles Grubba (Image by Sienna Balecki)
4. A Summer’s Rest by Elena F. (Images by Elena F.)
5. The Wallet by Felipe San Roman
6. The Beauty of the Night by Isabella Voeltz (Image by Sienna Balecki)
7. Girl by Mikaela Odell
8. Either Wings or Fins by Kayleigh Blair Olszewski
9. Deep River by Rihanna Ruzicka (Image by Sienna Balecki)
10. Mixed Media Landscape by Valentina Calvo
11. Pug by Sean Brady (Image by Ren Owens)
12. Snowfall by Anonymous
The Motmot Team
13.Mixed Media Self Portrait by Melissa Rebourg
14.The Girl Down the Street by Anonymous
15.Woman in Armour by Santiago Cubillos
16.Don’t Look by Santiago Cubillos
17. Untitled Art by Melda Kinali
18. Untitled Art by Melda Kinali
Sky Cultraro Co Editor Rebeca Urbina
Creative Consultant
Sienna Balecki Co Editor
Image Consultant
Ren Owens Co Editor
Creative Consultant
Zachary Sell
Lucie Gouttenoire
A once virgin field now stained red with rose
Steel against steel the hallowed dance flows
Pawns of a game they don’t know they play
The pigs safe and aloft always get their way
Fetishized martyr the tale a false muse
Dreams don’t matter once they light the fuse
Blood like roses against sky blue
This will be my Waterloo
Photo by Sienna baleckiPeaceful in nature
A mystical creature He can run walk and swing
I want to soar
Through the skies like a hawk
Without thought
Of any disturbance
To fly to the distant blazing fire
Which is our sun, a hot furnace
To travel wherever I desire And hunt
The required
To lay atop a mighty peak
And watch down as the shadows
Play hide and seek
As the leaves break
And the branches snap
The hawk soars down and stabs
Photo by Sienna baleckiA lot of people care about their wallet
Most because it has money
But for me there is more
It is a precious belonging
Not for its monetary worth
But for it's sentimental worth
My wallet is like my safety box
Where all my precious things are
It has what allows me to dive
It has all my money
It has the document that proves who I am
It knows many secrets and keeps them inside
But most importantly
It came from my Grandpa
The moon
Rises in the east
Walks his way over the sky
All alone
Followed by a few quiet stars
No people to watch
Only silence
Jealous of his brother
The sun
Who is loved by the people
Who has company from the humans
And he: He waits all alone
Until the humans wake up
Until he leaves through the west
Until his brother starts to shine again
But, still he tries his best brightens up the sky in a beautiful gray
Gives company to the few: that are awake and believe in him
Every full moon: The people ignore him
Every new moon: They miss him
The moon doesn’t know what he should do
Should he be there now in full shape
Should he be half there to find the middle peace
Should he be gone so the people notice him once
Questions he asks every day
But there will never be an answer.
Photo by Sienna BaleckiTo swim anywhere
To see all
To hear the waves
Learn the ways of life under the sea
The feelings of swimming free
Never to have anxiety
Costa Rica, California, Croatia
Greece or the Bahamas
Free to swim anywhere anytime
To never be alone
To care for the young like they are gold to a pirate.
To swim in a pod
Man knows more of the profound darkness
And its specks of light
Than their own abyss of blue
And its eternal night.
I, however, will never soar
Above the clouds. I stay in my home of starkness, Hear my fellows’ tunes too
I am the traveler of the ocean, The explorer of the blue. I pioneer the depth In only one breath With just one glimpse of me, I enchant those at sea. Towards the bottom, when I go deeper, I’ve seen all kinds of
My movement is unceasing
Never decreasing
Always constant. The hellish sounds
Of the metal vessel
Inching toward the bottom. The cherished calls
Of the other deep divers
In my life, will I discover The sound of the core of our earth
Or see what’s beyond the bottom?
I’ve been beyond the horizon
I live in the land of Poseidon
Your very own ocean, Is the one I arise in.
Photo by Sienna BaleckiA pug, slow as a slug. Fat as a pig, furry like a wig. Not skinny like a twig, breathes like a drilling rig. Super cute, but I wish I could put it on mute. Has tiny paws and a lot of flaws.
I exhale, and it seems my words leave with that breath, and I see them disappear in the air. I put my hands in my pockets to avoid the biting cold. Now I get what people mean when they say that, it feels like it's gnawing my fingers and making them numb. I’m pretty sure I can't feel my face anymore. The snowfall is so dense that I lost everyone, I didn’t even hear them call my name once…that’s ok. I sit down in the snow, I’m getting tired of trying to find my way when it’s clear they don’t want me to come back. I don’t remember laying down, but now I stare at the small specks of white gently falling down to their end. That's how I feel. A constant fall. And I wait for my end. It will come soon enough. I sigh and close my eyes, let this be the last time I do.
Entering the summer, the sky is bright
Frolicking in the grass, perfect weather
The girl down the street couldn’t ask for anything better
As autumn creeps in, the heat fades from sight
But she pickes apples, so everything is right
Everyone is bundled up, they’ll don a sweater
The girl down the street waits for a love letter
Now autumn leaves and winter is at its height
Outside in the snow, the wind made it tremendously cold
Some are ecstatic, but it makes some blue
The girl down the street is now a bit more bold
Slowly spring starts, the sight of flowers is new
The harshness of the snow will no longer make you fold
Now
it’s warm, the girl down the street has much to do
Those were the first words that popped into my head when I woke up two and a half weeks ago. I knew where it was too, the x-y-z coordinates plotted in my head. The windows were closed in my small ten-byten foot bedroom. I always closed my windows when I went to sleep, and I thanked myself for it because I know I would’ve seen it from my apartment on the eleventh floor.
As I’m walking to work I can feel it at seven o’ clock, blotting out the blue of the sky. I’m sure it’s staring at me, I think as I swipe my card to buy myself a coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar and one of honey. The barista hands it to me and smiles. She knows. They all know, everyone in the shop, standing in line, talking to their friends, hastily leaving to make it to their nine-to-fives. Don’t look.
But a lot of them looked. How could they not? I almost did, three days ago when I spilled my papers on the floor of my office. I bent down to pick them up, and my head turned as if by reflex. I snapped back to my papers, but I swear, I swear it knows, I didn’t even see what it was but it knows, I know it knows, I knew it when I woke up at six fifty-three, seven minutes before my alarm rang, I knew it as I walked to the coffee shop, I know it now as I’m in the elevator with three other people, all staring down at their phones because they refuse, even in these four walls, to look.
But I’m being paranoid.
My heels click on the linoleum as I walk to my cubicle. My heels are one and a half inches tall. My cubicle is about ten feet from the exit. My boss is here, asking me, “Can ya come in tomorrow? I know it’s Saturday but we’re not meeting our quotas ‘cuz of, uh, bein’ understaffed and all.”
“Understaffed?”
“Well, it’s, well, I don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk about it in the workplace yet, due to the, um, extenuating circumstances of the situation, but yeah, we’re pretty understaffed, and the boss knows ya to be pretty hardworking.”
“I don’t know, I kind of need my weekends.”
“Listen, please, the boss doesn’t know what to do ‘round here, and frankly, neither do I, but we can’t let this affect our productivity. We all need to work together, as a team.”
“We all just need to pull a little extra weight around here.”
“Yeah yeah, exactly. Thanks for understandin’ Liz, I knew I could count on ya.”
“You always can.”
It’s six fifty-three when I clock out. I ride the elevator down by myself this time. People usually leave by five, probably to get back home to their families. Kids. I wonder how they’re stopping their kids from looking? I would blindfold them. I laughed to myself at the idea. The door opens with a ding. Six fifty-five.
The walk home feels longer than usual. I don’t like going this way because it’s right above my head. I need to bend my neck down the entire time. It reminds me of something, but I can’t remember it right now. Remembering…I can’t remember much actually. What was it like three weeks ago? Who was I when I wasn’t being watched?
I stop in my tracks. I am being watched, aren’t I? I have no proof of it. I’m not a criminal. I'm not a celebrity. I’m not something important. Six fifty-eight.
I'm at the door of my apartment building. I feel it at eight o’ clock,
seventy-two degrees in the sky if the ground was the x-axis. Was I always thinking about numbers? My hands shake as I put the keys in the lock. Six fiftynine.
I think I wanted children at one point.
Fifty seconds.
I think I wanted, at one point.
Thirty-five seconds.
I’m going to wake up tomorrow at six fifty-three and do this again.
Twenty-one seconds.
I’m going to go buy my coffee.
Fourteen seconds.
I’m going to ride the elevator.
Eleven seconds.
I’m going to work overtime, pull a little extra weight.
Seven seconds.
I’m going to clock out.
Five seconds.
I’m going to go back to my bed.
Four seconds.
I’m going to go to sleep.
Three seconds.
And I’m going to do this again.
Two seconds.
I take my keys out of the door. I turn around and walk into the center of the empty street, my arms gently swinging by my side. My hands have stopped shaking. The moon is illuminating the streets, gently, making the shadows soft. I used to keep my drapes open as I slept, and let the moon lull me to sleep. It’s seven o’ clock. I take a deep, deep breath.
And I look.
By: Melda