bucketfuls of butterflies

By Grace Toscano

real art is dipping myself in paint and throwing myself against the pavement
wow look at that stain
all the feelings away
until you darken the page and there’s nothing left to say.
(darling I miss you
baby baby


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

Cigarette Constellations

By Avalon Lee

The ink darkens, leeching my energy as I trace an index over the text. A rejection letter from California Institute of the Arts, and best regards. No better than every other art academy who also shelved my portfolio.

The letter lands neatly in the bin. I stalk to my studio.

African Violets

By Callan Latham

I will count them all
shards of glass in the mirror

every part of me adds
up to nothing

I’m standing in front of violets
in front of a Renaissance painting
and wondering what do I have

Freedom of Speech

By Zoë Christianson

There are people in this room
that don’t deserve to be here.

Exhibit A’s intimate circle
gathers ‘round the VIP computers
designated for those
who manage,
for lack of any other skill,
to commence their daily whispering war.

Losing Lila

By Jessica Sutter

It looked a bit like Lila, but it wasn’t Lila. I don’t know why people say that when someone dies they look like they’re sleeping. Her skin was dull grey and colder than ice. Her long body lay limp and heavy on the stainless steel table. Her clothes were dirty and rumpled.

Who We Are

By Blaire Ginsburg

Who dreams?
Who dares to enter such a realm?
Visions, fleeting,
Escaping with the waking flutter,
Living on bated breath
And translucent promises of
A world all your own;
A world anew.

Just a Driveway

By Jillian Dunlay

Laughter chirps through my ears

A forever perfect


In this imperfect world


Sunshine frames the chalk lines

Every colorful streak

A reflection of my friends

A reflection of myself


Thriving in our child-like ways

My Song

By Abby Sublett

It’s hard to find who I am.
I know this could take long.
What sets me and others apart?
Where do I choose to stand?
I want answers to appear like the bang of a gong.
Reaching down into my heart,
or searching up above.
Finally at last, I find a song.