Elementia Family Tree



By Samiya Rasheed

My mother mourns leaving her own country so deeply it runs through her veins into mine. Bangladesh is what she knows and what she loves. She spends her time showing me her culture: spinning through dances, running through poetry, and wading through history.

Baba’s Garden

By Clara Rabbani

Egg-yolks blooming in serenity baba’s palms turn upwards black dirt falling on the sun. The fruit of baba’s hands covered in spines twisted but not the wicked way that punctures skin. Serpentine limbs extend in search of hands to hold fingers to suffocate. Pungent soil moistens fingertips incande

The Stories They Tell

By Clara Rabbani

I envy the stories They tell. Of the East And the West.

Of bare feet, Guava trees, Roasted fava beans.

Of tin water pails That held curly-haired children To keep the dust off their feet.


By Olivia J. Williams

I will never call a Latino “papi” sino héroe, soldado, sobreviviente Brother in bondage, sibling in survival The chains of the Hispanic clink with those of his Black cellmate We languish under the same white gall Asian men rattle wire fences in 1930s internment camps White supremacists l

Coconut Kid

By Neha Sridhar

Giggling, Aditi grabs my hand and twirls me along as her ghagra’s elaborate mirror embroidery catches in colorful lighting.

To Mom: Inspired by Ocean Vuong’s Poem “A Letter to My Mother That She Will Never Read”

By Katie Stanos

But you need it, you said. I thought you wanted to be beautiful. I slammed my hands on the wheel of your Land Rover and pulled over to the side of the road near the big houses with green lawns and trampolines, Norfolk Way.

Shadows Need Light

By Hiba Faruqi

A ransacked village in India is where my lineage began Women. Women, I will And Can never, ever know. Tribulations my western brain Cannot comprehend. They made me. I have the blood of Hundreds Of Maharanis, princesses, and queens of India. The iron will of thousands of brave Pakistani women burn

Where I’m From

By Emme Mackenzie

I am from the expressions of my people flattened nose and slits for eyes leathery skin and cricks in my back each feature of mine a reflection of my family heritage


By Hiba Faruqi

From the moment a screaming woman thrusts us into the world, Soft, bloody heads first. We begin to deteriorate. For some, that occurs at a faster pace than others.


By Jessica Sutter

as the snow flies around me i wonder why this cold winter day brings back memories maybe it was the hot chocolate or the holiday cheer or maybe just maybe it was the snow the snow laying on the ground melting into the earth was there when i was small and making snowmen and i was laughing it was t

Never a Child

By Zoë Christianson

A class clown attempted murder today. A mother’s little boy, a child’s best friend, a teacher’s beloved terror, stood over the monster who raised his freckly faced son like the animal he’d become, clutching a knife.

I Am the Quiet Little Hispanic Girl

By Stephanie Lara

I am the quiet little Hispanic girl, Light skinned people make fun of me they say I am not the color I’m supposed to be. But who cares? It’s me not you!


By Patrick Barry

As a grade school student I would read comic books. I was no expert in the field nor any sort of serious collector but never the less I enjoyed reading them. I liked all sorts of heroes, Marvel or D.C., but my favorite was The Shadow. I liked almost every comic book hero.

Three Choices

By Molly Kavanaugh

The ties to your ancestry Binding a great family tree, With this can you be truly free? Now you have these choices three: Embrace your blood, An old-new bud. Refuse the bonds For fields beyond. Keep roots down there, And to be fair, Leave your crown In the care Of clouds’ prayer And wind’s heir.