somewhere else
By Peyton Bell
somewhere else
we lay close together and talk about stars.
we converse about philosophy and children,
about hometowns and school and dancing,
and all along is this glimmering hope that
the two of us, here, are going to matter somehow
in the great, unwinding structure of this world.
we do not belong to that place but I want you to know
I have lived a dream with you in these few short weeks
and if I could make it a lifetime, I would.
By Emma Totaro
Stars Watch
By Abigail Lopez
Stars watch bleak space.
Where darkness has no golden light.
Stars watch bleak space.
Where there is nothing to embrace.
There is darkness richer than night.
For here, there is never moonlight.
Stars watch bleak space.
There was no moon on this planet. No stars. When the sun was down, there was no light of any kind provided by the heavens. This was one of the reasons why the sensory helmets were so important. Sure, humans had figured out how to leave their home planet, but they hadn't counted on their bodies not being able to handle the differences.
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Night Owl
By Kaci Rigney
Up past midnight,
Devouring books.
Just five more minutes. . .
Tho’ school calls in the morning.
Slapping, she hits the snooze.
Just five more minutes. . .
Racing to class,
Tho’ sluggish inside.
Just five more minutes!
Heading to the ladies’ dorms,
Yawning, she takes a nap.
Just five more minutes.
School books piled high.
Homework almost done.
Just five more minutes.
Up past midnight,
Devouring books.
Just five more minutes. . .
Sweet Saint Tecolote sets a scene within the bounds of dreamless horror:
Midnight solstice,
Supernatural,
Clairvoyance,
She'll bring death with each click of her boots
Dressed in black and mystical elegance
I remember the reflection of my face in a puddle near high school
I remember the look on my face as I started to fade
I had a place in the sun, but now only the moon speaks my name
I only exist between the space of oblivion and the highest form of Justice
When I come back down to the sound of vinyls,
And the dullness of life hits
And I need something stronger than my reflection to get off the ground
To thrash around and Be holy again
Midnight is the time when I and the divine can coexist.
The sounds and smells of a fresh movement
The feeling of freedom and wisdom in every lyric on display
Screech like owls as “The man” presses his boot in your face
Thrashing around in the Moshpit
Her blasphemest form of Worship
The familiar, comforting taste of blood and pavement
Getting jiggy with danger
Paling around and grooving with jeopardy
Like the moon, The punks only know my name
Sweet Tecolote, Saint of Midnight, and The Punk Scene
Patron of Rebellion and child of Nyx, Steal me away!
And when the moon starts to set, promise me you’ll chase the day away.
Because she commands, “The highest form of existence is in between the night and day.”
The Saint of Midnight and The Punk Scene
By Angelina Cisneros
by Sydney Aguas
Framed in moonshine
Feathers folded against the cold
Nightingale--my only companion
In the agony of my soul
Only you, nightingale, will
With undimmed fervor and heart
Throw your voice into night so still
Singing as you shatter apart
I deny the canary, thrush, and lark
Whose spirits only thrive in light
I’d rather break my spirit in the dark
As I sit with you here in the night
My pain is greater than words will allow
And the night stretches on everlong
Give voice to my sorrows now
Remembering them forever in your song
Lighthouse on Bayside Drive
by Alyssa White
At the lighthouse
where the blackened waves
crush into rocks shaped like spears,
where the seagulls morph into vultures
and search for an evening sea-side meal,
a bloated body floats on the water’s surface.
Ships alight with booze and good cheer dock
for the evening, and don’t notice the mystery
in the water beneath.
The island’s myths say the killer is a Siren,
those ancient witches with songs of lust
and taunting and temptation.
Others fear the spirit of a young girl
torments the sea she drowned in,
hungry to claim anyone who enters.
At the lighthouse,
the waves conceal the truth and bury proof
Under their weight, she waits for another.
3 a.m. Thirst
by Emma Totaro
Throat grating thirst
steals sound sleep.
Lungs about to burst,
blankets in a heap.
The glass beside my bed lies
empty, not even a d
r
o
p
to ease anguish away.
I need the dryness to stop.
Frigid floorboards groan
as I tiptoe
down
the
hall.
The distance left to water unknown,
darkness, my only pitfall.
The screech of the sink
shivers down my spine,
but this holy drink
introduces me to the divine.
Eyes droop,
drifting fast.
My bed tells me to hurry.
Catching up on dreams passed,
the empty glass no longer a worry.
Song of a Quiet Humanity
by Andrew Banks
What’s the sound of the middle of nowhere?
It’s not just the wind through the branches of creosote bushes,
pine needles whirling to the soil,
or the screeches and wing-flaps of a hawk,
the squawks of a murder of crows pecking at a hare’s carcass;
It’s the grinding of a backyard bandsaw,
chuckling between two old men,
the coffee slurps and pencil scratches of a high school history teacher,
whirs of the neighbor’s car up the street,
the warnings of parents to their firstborn
two acres over.
Music, voices, glass clinks, and footsteps in the dirt and gravel:
the song of a quiet Humanity.
Streetlamps hover over concrete,
lighting the way for the clacks of skateboards
gliding over the pavement perfections.
White light bulbs radiate through black
branches of landscaped trees
with overgrown roots
bulging through sidewalks stamped
1952.
Green kentucky bluegrass
turns purple in the astral glow,
painting houses with crawl spaces in shades
only moonlight can make.
Freeway overpasses,
some miles away,
twinkle with headlights, fireflies,
thousands upon thousands,
gridlocked to the horizon.
Here, for us,
far from earth’s womb,
the mating calls of birds
are the car horns of angry drivers;
the whistles of a breeze through pine needles
are the hums of tires gripping asphalt;
and a city park,
the closest thing we have
to freedom.
A Cry from Magdala
by Josh Fullman
Are these the feet that I have bathed,
these—drenched with hair and tears and scent,
stood in between my sin and stones,
held firm when his eyes met my own,
saw past my past,
my errors waived?
Are these the feet that I have chased
across the mountains, lake towns, storms,
and deserts, caked with family soil—
who silenced demons, handled boils,
passed supper plates,
with angels raced?
Are these the feet that I have kissed,
now torn by gravel, birch, and stake?
No matter: I would kiss again,
taste blood and dust, reclaim my sin—
just not to part
as souls dismissed.
Are those the feet of him made whole—
brought peace to all but not for me?
You gave mother, son, your dear Beholds.
Have you no words that I might hold?
“Don’t cling too close”
still wraiths my soul.
The sun danced between
the leaves of the carrotwood tree as a barely perceptible breeze failed to keep the heat at bay. But Quinn didn’t mind. The warmth made her feel free. She knelt on the dirt of her front yard and fished a smooth rock out of the soil. She tossed it in her pocket and brushed the dirt off her denim shorts. Quinn then continued scouring her front yard for sticks, leaves, bits of wood, and blades of grass.
Fairy Houses
by Clarissa McLaughin
Prose - 2024 CBU Alumni Creative Writing Contest Winner - Second Place
Do Dreams Have Meaning?
By Tirza Bustrum
Dreams have meaning
Until I dream of home-invading dinosaurs
Who wear my jewelry and lipstick
A glammed-up T-rex marches into war
Against turtles who carry bricks
I talk strategy with a manatee
And watch the devastation through a monocle
As we sip shrimp-flavored tea
Dreams have meaning
When I dream of walking down the chip aisle
With a Coke in hand
And an odd man shoots me a smile
As he carries a jar of sand
And that morning, I crave a soda pop
And I’m out of chips in my house
So I see the man with sand in my local shop
Dreams have meaning
Until I dream of finding you
Your dark eyes and half-blurred face
And I wish the dream were true
Because you made my heart race
And you brought me coffee and a kiss
When I told you I needed caffeine
But I woke up before I could drink in bliss
Dreams have meaning
Until I dream of finding you
Your dark eyes and half-blurred face
And I wish the dream were true
Because you made my heart race
And you brought me coffee and a kiss
When I told you I needed caffeine
But I woke up before I could drink in bliss
