April 2016 | poetry
The perpendicular marks on the carpet,
Below my blistered boots, mark my path to this
Place of auditory affirmation.
The noise from the tv tells me to stop
The silence and listen to
Talking mocking teething media personalities:
I feel the hereness of hearing and for this reason,
All is perfect.
The questions my mind beckons to
Consciousness are neither new nor old but
Persistent: this steadfastness feels normal—
A salutation of life and auditory awareness.
The fortunate falls we face and fear
Hear no cries of regret but rather,
Cries of confidence that propel new-
ness and resilience.
Like the spindly carpet from the waiting room floor,
I stand still and sally my silent awakening.
Joey Kim
Joey Kim is a Ph.D. student in English at Ohio State. Her research interests include British Romantic poetry, Romantic Orientalism, gender and sexuality, and postcolonial studies. She is particularly interested in the intersections of theories of sexuality and Orientalist literatures. She earned her MA in English literature at Ohio State as well, and is currently reading for her PhD candidacy exams.
April 2016 | poetry
In dusty houses
with sallow shades
floating ghostly
past books, pictures,
broken furniture
unconnected
disengaged
Functional rubble
of teeth, knees, hips,
skipping the charters to Branson,
afternoon performances
of Hamlet
writing in their journals
how the view from the end of the road
mirrors the view from the beginning:
a thoughtless line
vining to mind,
a heart of treetops,
vanishing unsurprised
through the floorboards.
Craig Evenson
Craig Evenson is a school teacher. His poems have appeared in such magazines as Lalitamba, Midwest Quarterly, and Common Ground Review. He lives in Minnesota.
April 2016 | poetry
i was born a year and a half after he died
a little baby boy allotted eight hours of fresh breath
a slap in the face to my mother who carried him for nine months
who would’ve given up a lifetime of breaths
to save his
they say i am made of stardust
particles from the universe, the very matter
from a now dead star forms my raggedy bones
that i carry around
and berate
and criticize
and abuse
my grandmother left her house
knowing she’d turn black and blue
when her mom found out that she crawled out the window
to give my grandfather one last kiss
before he left for the war
when i was two i jumped into a pool of water
at a party for grown ups when people were laughing
and not watching the now disturbed cold water
and some man jumped in that didn’t know me
in all of his clothes
saved my life
and it’s interesting, so interesting
to think of the boy – what’s his name?
who left me in the dark during that tough time
and how i thought my life no longer mattered
because when you think of the stardust,
the baby, the swimming pool,
my grandmother, the war,
the boy seems a bit less shiny,
don’t you think?
Monica Simon
Monica Noelle Simon is a poet, writer and marketing professional from Scranton, Pa. She is the creator of Poets of NEPA. Her writing has been published on Elite Daily, Poets of NEPA, and HelloGiggles.
April 2016 | nonfiction
I found myself at deaths door. Looking up at the reflection of the stars that mirrored an image of what I once thought was my life. It seemed that violence followed me, or was it that I have been chasing it all along. Maybe the fact is that I enjoyed its company. It was my way of escape into the dark realms of the other side of me. But I was trapped and I wanted to get out. How is it that I fought with everything inside of me but nothing was good enough? I became helpless, hopeless, and distraught.
I was on a path of destruction and damage consumed me. Every part of me. And nobody was here to save me. I laid at the bottom of the river with eyes wide open watching the world pass me by. Surrounded by unfamiliar faces in unfamiliar places.
A part of me could still smile, though this was extremely faint. Is this smile a reminder of life that still lives within me, or is this insanity?
I cried out for help, and no one came, no one heard, and no one could see. Everyone around me lacked the capacity to relate to my situation. Or, maybe no one gave a damn.
I laid there completely lifeless. Tears filled the air bubbles that offered hope, a second chance, a comforter, a hand. One to reach out into the water and grab me. That’s all I wanted. One hand.
Paralyzed with fear and bound to the part of me that I, myself could not understand.
I needed pulled out!
The water from the river quickly consumed the spaces in my lungs reserved for air. All my sorrows, pains, and hurt left me as I slowly and dreadfully suffocated. It was at that moment that I felt free. I no longer suffered from the infirmary.
I laid there eyes wide open at the bottom of the river.
Latorra Killebrew
Latorra Killebrew is a new and aspiring writer. She enjoys composing free verse narrative poems along with free verse shorter poems.
April 2016 | poetry
You grow a beard, check the mirror,
notice you are forty years old, the next
morning, you shave it off, find you are
sixty. But life is like that, suddenly
everyone you know is dying and they
still visit with your back turned to them.
One day, you took the school bus
and you earned a gold star for answering
the last question right. Now, the nurses
on night duty ask you something which
you can’t open your mouth and respond to.
All you know is that someone switched
off the light and you don’t know how.
Lisa Zou
Lisa Zou is a student in Arizona. Her writing has been recognized by The Poetry Society of UK and the National YoungArts Foundation. Her work has been published by the Sierra Nevada Review.
