Poem

Writing

unrefined.

By Arden Pryor

like the exuberance of bangs cut too short and stacks of bracelets that never match. 
gold is for the good days only. 
most days are silver. they are plentiful and lacking variation. 
endless hours and constantly runny eyes. 


5 Foot Giant

By Elena Unger

The world is large, but so am I.
An ocean of confused compassion
rolls through my veins,
and I balance boulders 
on unmanicured fingertips. 


Agnotology

By Anonymous

What will you let yourself know?
And what will you put in boxes
And crush
Hoping it won’t spring up again

My attic is full of chests that I’ve battered in
Locked and guarded
That I’ve known I couldn’t see
Without ever looking inside


all the things that make it so

By Isobel Li

yesterday, 
i was greeted by the moon herself in your driveway.
she left my palms damp with slobber in her wake
and i stood outside your front door,
feeling like a fraction, small but rightfully so
and across the street, adult chatter and laughter


All We Do Not Know

By Elena Unger

This morning I listened to an interview 
with poet Ada Limón. She spoke about 
epiphanies and didactic endings
and how sometimes a poet must surrender 
to the discomfort of unknowing.
How sometimes it is best to listen 
to the world’s echoing heartbeat 


Beach Day

By Clara Moss

i’m floating on my back with 
sunscreen spread along my nose and 
water lapping against my shoulders. 
i should be focusing on
how the sun is warming me from the outside — in or
how my friends are splashing water over our goosebumped flesh but 


Blank Pages

By Supriya Bolla

I wish I had trauma that I could spin into a story, 
a story that would grip your thoughts tighter than leather binding, 
Something I could rip to shreds, over-analyze in the margins, 
sew back together, and send off to the publisher before I tear myself apart.


Boy Scout Camping Trip on The Eve of The Apocalypse

By Andy Villar

The sun went missing today.
There were no rivers of blood or plagues of locusts,
first-born children did not fall ill, nor did frogs descend on the cities.
It was quiet. 
The black hole stood stagnant.
We could only watch and wait.


Butter

By Gaby Kill

I am melting butter
in AP Statistics
draped over the desk
warm dripping out of leaky sleeves
as I slide puddley down the hallway my mother screams,
 “Finally, some fat inside you!”
someone needs to pour out my sneakers
wash me out of my socks


C(at)-Section

By Sangitha Aiyer

As I pass through an unmarked apartment building,
I observe a woman’s relationship with a stray cat.

Obscured by the shadows of happy hour light,
the dirt that has accumulated on the floor’s grout still shines, 


Canyon

By Sumlina Alam

The Sun is a greedy emperor, 
Shining its light across the Canyon, 
And evaporating drops of water. 
 
With the land so parched and no color than red, 
The beings must have knelt by now, right? 
No, there are a few that stand. 
 


Magician

By Ziyi Yan

Mmm, you are a distracted assent, you coat like cold sweat,
glisten
like contented sleep.

And then you are songless– muh like mundane, buzzing of the lampshade fibers,
quivering
from the lamplight flicker.


miranda

By Shaun Loh

The credits recover,
and suddenly like a k9 you snuffle the criminal boyhood out of my skin.
I always think myself circumspect in my cover-ups, but in seconds you know where my blindspot is.


on being called a gaslighter

By Stephania Kontopanos

PART I: AI is created
I think God made you and me out of binary code You call me an enigma,
But I do not speak your language. You would be the 1’s.
Standing tall
Always at the top
Perfect Aryan halo on your head I would be the 0’s.
Zero.


Poem

By Savannah Voth

Ocean wanders in to contemplate me

drafts a verse about my ankles in

twisting foam, scrambles the lines

and forgets. A mirror in the slick

afterthought of water on sand

where my feet sink in soft parchment

clouds, beneath shells and kelp


pool float

By Kayla Brethauer

Floating through space feels like lounging on a pool float. True, your float is no pool float.
It’s a slab of discarded metal lost in the wasteland of the universe, and it’s pulling you with it, too.
In another time - a whole other life -


Prince Myshkin discovers the laws of physics

By Savannah Voth

(1) every puzzle has an empty space, and a piece that never seems to fit
everywhere.
on the train in november I found
a duality called us (antithesis as mirror) sorry it is colder here than I remembered
and I am tired
of being called a dreamer


Questions for the Departed

By Lexi Newsom

Wrong
Is how still the air is, standing
Is how grey the sky is, weeping
Is how red the fallen leaf is, dying
Is how green the grass is, living
Living, living, living
A breath in, a breath out
Taken for granted—granted, it’s


Rain

By Sumlina Alam

Under my umbrella,
I watch the clear drops descend.

They hurl, abiding gravity,
As they run, far away,
From the hands of the sky.

It makes sense for the clouds to darken,
To yowl in pain,
And to jolt fear across the land.


Runs in The Family

By Gaby Kill

the vents in my grandmother's old car blow
cigarette smoke at my left knuckles
and right forearm.
there's something so cold about crawling back to the house and home
where Caroline kicked me out for borrowing her water bottle


Sestina of the Man at Eternity's Gate

By Esther Cheng

Are these the pangs of birth or the aftershocks of death?
What awaits me beyond this shore?
And even now when legs and feet have failed me
The sand shows trails, like serpents, of this fragility
I bleed: the gravel grinds my skin and flesh


Ode to My Grandma

By Austina Xu

李白静夜思
床前明月光,
疑是地上霜.
举头望明月,
低头思故乡

This is my dad’s favorite poem.

And I have no idea what it means.


Slave Morale

By Joey Wu

Breaking News - Serial Killer James ‘Smiles’ Hiraeth Suspected for the Murder of a 7-year-old girl. Mother Beth Reiner stricken with grief, medical practitioners dispatched to relocate to local sanitarium

Forgiveness - Beth Reiner


For my mother

By Arden Yum

After Toni Morrison’s Beloved

 

Mother, tell me about the child in your womb.

                                               We shared water &

                                                                             blood &


mother's guilt

By Stephanie K

I ate the placenta and the umbilical cord

(and i ate and i ate).

I tasted the iron on my teeth

(it stained until i swallowed and i swallowed the hydrogen peroxide).


Artificial Dreams

By Isabelle Shachtman

Been sitting still the whole day

Can’t sleep

 

Thank you trazowhatervthehellyouare

For the frog and the eyes

And the image of my

Ex-girlfriend in the sun and

 

What am I saying?

What’ve I done?

 


A Bicycle Accident

By Cheyenne Mann

Graze the lips with concrete and floss with blood

Wintergreen and sharp, pennies in the mouth that

Rattle like bicycle wheels down long hills.

Bandaid sticky, adhesive concealer that fortifies a face

To face the world dripping with bruises, salt, and the momentum


Father

By Gaby Kill

My brother’s just moved into college!

Well, not entirely- there’s still his coffee machine and a box of granola bars, but we’re driving those to him today.


It was just red

By Gaby Kill

"Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never one beautiful, it was just red." - Kait Rokowski

 

I wanna make poetry out of the way the boy who was my first grade best friend


private poem

By Yasi Farahmandnia

there are years to work out the kinks.

my hands buzzing and my tongue stuck to the back of rusty teeth, i scream to write in an unmarked

language.

but spit wets the page instead.

 

i want to communicate by destroying our common language.