Tag Archives: poem

elementary backstroke

Alissa Simon (she/her); Washington, DC— my hands, clenched against my thighs, sweep  into sleepy circles drawn by my elbows to carry great bushels of water soiled black by shade on either side of my hips only to then tip upwards, outwards, branching the blue underbellies of my arms the bleeding, ballpoint faces of my wrists Continue reading “elementary backstroke”

today, tomorrow, and the next day

Talia Rodriguez (she/her); Garrett Park, MD— today i am in a new place tomorrow i will be home and the next day i will be off again papa says its normal mommy says she won’t cry apocalypse descending maybe i like the chaos i dream of big windows, airy a view of the greenery, studentsContinue reading “today, tomorrow, and the next day”

My ceiling fan at 2:53 a.m.

Camila Trimberger; Sheboygan, WI— My ceiling fan shakes to the rhythm of a clock  counting down the dog days of summer. I can hear MTV’s “Ridiculousness” playing on the TV in the next room. My eyes are heavy and my mouth is dry. I cannot help but lie on my stomach and wait for theContinue reading “My ceiling fan at 2:53 a.m.”

Before a graduation.

A collage by Abigail Murphy Abigail Murphy; Arlington, Virginia— There’s an aching in my neck from leaning, Head slouched over shoulders, typing, reading,  Watching, rarely speaking. And myself—I Ache. Aching for a connection, feeling.  Rush of joy, excitement, sadness, feeling.  That feeling of uniting with someone Across space. Seeing their body, feeling Their presence. TwoContinue reading “Before a graduation.”