Remember Summer?

By Anonymous

He’s got you stuck in his teeth.
Remember, summer?
          Well, tell me:
Why’d you leave him and I alone in the blue tiled bathroom?
Remember, summer?
The one with the blood stained floors that we sat on for hours.
          Well, tell me:

Dream State Slip-Gown

By Isabelle Shachtman

The sound of the train past midnight
And a clear sort of light seek my room and cheeks
Leaving the layers of darkness, moon, and house light stale and stark
As if the lighter colored sheaths of air in the dark are unbreathable


By Sydney Fessenden

I like to stare at the Ikea light fixture in the living room,
letting the middle bulb sink into my shallow eyes.
I look until it starts to hurt, my ripped fingernails gripping
the worn suede of the couch as pupils get lost in

Museum of Broken Street Signs

By Meghana Lakkireddy

I miss running down the street with you at half past 3
When your dad dropped you off after softball practice on Sunday afternoons.
And there was never anything more than grass stains on white pants and empty soda cans that my mom told me to throw away two hours ago.


By Anna Schmeer

i never met her
but i always knew she was there
my dad talked about her so fondly
“we used to drive
for hours listening to old cassette tapes
singing along
not knowing where we were going
but not caring”

Forgotten Memory

By Ada Heller

I can’t remember
why pink ice cream
smells of lakes
and trips to grandma’s house
I have no memory
of cherry chocolate chunk ice cream melting
in my mouth
But sometimes
I lick my fingers
just to make sure
I’ve gotten the last drops 

Starless Planet

By Paiton Stith

When we finally start talking to each other after the fall, huddling on the side of the island where the black-eyed humans can’t hear us, we all tell the same story. A day that started with the sun rising and waking up and going off to whatever it is we do during the day.


By Isabelle Shachtman

She whispers in my ear when hugging me
I want to stay here forever
I don’t want to go

I’m driftwood
I don’t ever stay for long
But I don’t have the strength to pull away

Goosebumps and Gummy Bears

By Gillian Knaebel

I am from hard worn leather beneath my feet.
Watching my second home from my favorite place,
4 feet above the ground.
From sounds of gymnastics filling my ears
to a layer of chalk and sweat that coats everything from my
legs to the inside of my throat

Letters from College

By Megan Schrek

Hey, I miss you

School started yesterday and
I really couldn’t stand
You not being there

They had a pasta bar in the cafeteria
The germs wouldn’t mesh well with your hypochondria,
But the butter noodles were okay

Spaghetti Boyfriend

By Emma Anderson

You were my
Spaghetti boyfriend
Full of spaghetti
That’s all I really
Know about you

You were my
Only friend
Full of potential
It’s strange how I don’t
Remember you


By Claire Christie

The place many memories were made, where laughs echo throughout the woods. Splashes into the water below can still be heard and felt on a hot summer’s day. The rope that hangs, worn and weathered from young hands, gripping it tightly.

A Spectacular View

By Leslie Goodwin

A cool breeze shuffled my hair, causing deep chestnut strands to tangle in my eye lashes. As my purse swung loosely at my hip, I slowly lifted my hand to shield my defenseless eyes against the brilliant sun. I exhaled deeply, letting the awe and amazement settle in the pit of my stomach.


By Brooke Stanley

Bumping the van, our holey road twists
onto the dark side of each mountain,
drawing us into night and the nervousness
of a stranger at the wheel in an unfamiliar place.
The stars are swallowed, the moon gone
from the rough highway and jagged peaks.

time like falling snow

By Skylar Pappenfort

Memories, oh memories those fine grains of sand
Escape between your fingers to the beating of the band
Murmuring in harmony upon a demure heart
Oh what a lovely pas de deux in which we find our part
Rows of fleeting smiles and a million bluebird skies

Yes, That is Why...

By Elizabeth B. Kelly

The wind and rain, two things I love most. They go hand in hand, the wind and rain. First, the wind blows through and tells the world to be quiet and listen; then the rain comes and washes away horrible things.

Pieces of My Heart

By Anonymous

Since the first breath of life,
one adventure to the next,
I can only reflect back in fondness
to the scattered pieces of my heart.

Patchwork of Places

By Catherine Strayhall

The losses we experience
The victories we achieve…
They become intertwined
With the places we inhabit
As we go about our lives.
Meaning and memory tie us to these places
So that even when we leave somewhere,
Or the buildings disappear


By Aaron Peterson

When I think of Iowa,
I think of cattle,
I think of the rattle under the road,
driving by humble abodes.
I imagine cornfields,
I imagine barns,
driving by the farms,
I hear the rumble of tractors,
the thunder in the sky during summertime,

Tiny Little Things

By Regan Erwin

lightly sunkissed skin and bright grey blue eyes
sympathetic, funny, crazy
daughter of a caring, loving mom named Carmen
who loves…
making new memories
gaining more friends
laughing so hard my stomach hurts
who fears….


By Catherine Strayhall

She is faded.
Worn out,
Worn down.
Time stole her crown.

So I Walk

By Carley Eschliman

The light tapping of rain, loud at first, but slowly becoming weaker and weaker, grabs me; takes hold. I open the squeaky front door and peek a single foot outside. The vivid green grass begs for me to be a companion while it slowly moves in the ever-slightest of winds. So I walk...