Elementia memory

Writing

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: Why’d you trap us outside the screen door? Remember, s


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 As if I’m lying to myself about what I really see through the night


Blink

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 the dangerous yellow.


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. The boys that surrounded us we


Youth

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” sometimes one of the songs they used to sing would come on the radio my dad would turn it up


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.


Driftwood

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 It chokes me and tastes thick, and starchy wi


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 Blonde Full of spaghetti That’s all I really Know about you

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


Tree

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.


Guatemala

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. Suddenly, I see an orange glow in the black, bes


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 Intent on brightly shining as they pass befor


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 Or the land changes, We’re a part of those places, And those p


Iowa

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, I smell the stink of the cows, we should be nearly there n


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 and… laughing so hard my stomach hurts who fears…. slithery, slimy, snakes losing somebody I love and… getting made fun of w


Faded

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...