Author: Hayley Arthur

Sebastian Callahan

-From the school of Bashо̄
Winter meets bonsai
burnt, broken, brown, samsara.
Bye Bodhidharma.

Alicyn Harris

Alicyn Harris

It is not her fault,
The way her feelings suffocate me
I drown in them,
But I know she is drowning too.
Walking on eggshells around her
So she doesn’t crack and spill
A single misstep and she would cry out
I was not perfect enough
Too messy
Too loud
Too thin
Too expensive
Her attempts to love me left me
Strangled, exhausted
And my heart hurts for her,
She doesn’t know any other way to love
I understand my mother,
But I cannot forgive her
Still, I keep going back
Because all I ever wanted was my mother’s love

Anna Thomas

my love for you is in persistent retrograde
the candle is being lit – the wick won’t ignite
the river is flowing yet never forms a cascade

removing the mask – never revealing the masquerade
the key is in the door – the lock is still tight
my love for you is in persistent retrograde

stepping out into the sun – still in the shade
the moon comes out – the sky isn’t bright
the river is flowing yet never forms a cascade

erasing the words – the lines never fade
the stars shine – the day still isn’t night
my love for you is in persistent retrograde

getting off the path – somehow never strayed
turning left – still heading right
the river is flowing yet never forms a cascade

fighting for your love to find out it was a game of charade
looking forward but keep on losing sight
my love for you is in persistent retrograde
the river is flowing yet never forms a cascade

Lucas Durand

“Steep your steps ever in Light
And shun the umbral grasp of Night.”

These words often our mothers say
To children, lest they disobey.
For Light holds the Darkness at bay
And proudly heralds coming Day.
Where It reigns, the Void holds no sway.
Steep your steps ever in Light.

As such, when I must walk alone
I stride within the Sunshine shone
By lamps aflame o’er cobblestone.
Though their glow gutters with gusts blown,
They guard against Dark’s threats unknown
And shun the umbral grasp of Night.

And yet the darkened places call.
Though Night has naught, it offers all.
While I am not the shadows’ thrall,
Within my soul I feel it crawl:
The thirst to yield and Lightless fall.
Steep your steps ever in Light.

“Perhaps in twilight, you would rise.”
So the Night says, and so it lies.
For dusk no true compromise
And, once conquered by Nighttime, dies.
Heed not its whimpered, whispered cries
And shun the umbral grasp of Night.

When Dawn awakens, brilliant, bright,
And burns away our ev’ry plight
Firm faith shall turn to sunlit sight.
Until that Day sets all aright,
Resist the Dark with all your might.
Steep your steps ever in Light
And shun the umbral grasp of Night.

Jesse Lee

Pinpricks of silver on black velvet,
scattered remains of last night’s
shattered moon.
A glowing beast,
a ball of light held in its mouth
as he stalks through the night.

The raiders of the sea
called him the torch of Loki,
guiding the mischievous god
to the land of mortals.

The ancients knew him as
Orion’s hunting companion,
following his master into death
to hunt the night dark west.

He gave his blessing to the archers,
His blood to the wolves,
His love to the lost,
an eternal fire against
the shadows.

He answers the howls
of his earthbound brothers
with a shimmering, silent dance,
burning brighter than all his celestial kin,
a wildfire among candles.

Natalie Tankersley

I have a confession. I think I might have loved you, and I never said a word.
I shouldn’t be writing this. We both know better than to put information of this nature down on paper. We both sacrificed our ability to be honest with each other on the altar of reputation long ago. Honesty is a luxury that neither of us can afford these days. And yet, I’m writing this anyway. I’m handing you a loaded gun in the form of a letter, and I’m trusting that whatever your feelings about me are, you won’t shoot me in the back. There’s no turning back for either of us now.
I hated you when we first met. Both third graders with puffed-up chests and an inflated sense of self-importance. Your brown hair chopped into a bowl cut. My blonde bangs pinned back with flower clips while they grew out. You, the youngest in your family, who could make the whole world quake with a single word. Me, the oldest in my family, who had a tongue sharp enough to split people open. Your obsession with politics and rockets. My obsession with books and words. In hindsight, it was inevitable that we clashed. We were both too much, too enthusiastic, too articulate, and too mature for our age. We were sparks in a world of darkness. Two stars in one school might have managed to avoid one another. But two in one class? We were doomed right from the start.
We hated each other with a burning intensity, but we couldn’t leave each other alone. Isn’t it funny how thin the line between hatred and obsession is? We glared, hissed, and fought with brutal words and barely concealed insults.
We threw our hands into the air like it was a competition, adrenaline pumping. I remember wishing I could just ignore you, but you shone so brightly. It was impossible to look away. Was it the same for you? Did I consume your thoughts to the point of distraction? Did your success even matter if I wasn’t failing? I never asked. At the time, it didn’t seem important. Now, it feels like it might have been the only thing that ever mattered.
You remember the collision? Our teacher announced a group project, her eyes narrowing at our little faces. We both groaned, and I caught your eye from across the classroom. We never played well with others, you and me. Neither one of us liked to share the spotlight, share the workload, share the glory, and share the A we knew was in our future. Maybe that’s why, when our teacher said we could choose our own partners, we met in the middle, and our worlds imploded on themselves.
No more attempts to outshine the other. We made far better partners than we ever did enemies. Your pride and my glory mixed together until no one could even look at us, much less come close to our combined talents. We were the best of the best. Untouchable by anyone. We were infinite, a galaxy stretching a thousand stars.
And then we grew up. You finally got rid of that awful bowl cut you sported all through elementary school. My blonde hair melted into brown, and I learned how to hold a curling iron and use makeup. We changed. As loudly as we came together, we fell apart with nothing but a sigh. You held court in the lunchroom, surrounded by guys, and I faded into obscurity, taking in strays until they crowned me queen.
But even in a high school with hundreds of students, we found one another. The brightest stars in any room although others came close. We pulled the best into our orbits, friends instead of dictators for the first time. Your ego softened. My arrogance dulled. And when we collided again, there was no implosion, no earth shattering moment, no noise at all. Our worlds seemed to merge as if they had never parted at all.
It’s your fault. How was I not supposed to fall in love when you were backing up every idea I ever had, when you lit up every room you walked into? You’re the only person I have ever met who could match me step for step, who could read my mind. How could I stop myself from falling when you played me symphonies in empty classrooms, smiling up at me, hands flying across the keys? Maybe that’s when I knew. I was totally and completely, utterly irreversibly, in love with you.
Did you ever suspect? Sometimes I wonder if you knew all along and turned a blind eye to keep our friendship safe. How could you not have known? I can see it in my eyes when I go back through the old photos. I tried so hard to keep it from you, to bury it inside me, six feet under. I valued you too much to risk you over something as silly as emotions.
Maybe you really never knew. Maybe I should have taken it to the grave. You probably would have preferred it that way. Still, the longing sits in my stomach like a ball of lead, keeping my feet firmly on the ground like an anchor. I can’t move on, and I cannot go back. I have to do something before I lose myself here. Do you understand? The person I used to know wouldn’t have. Maybe I don’t want you to understand. Maybe I just want to burden you with everything I’ve ever carried on my own shoulders before it’s too late.
I close my eyes and all I can see are your fingers dancing across piano keys. All I can hear is the edge in your voice as you speak in front of the class and your laughter as I take our classmates apart with a single sentence. I find you in every word I say, every word I write, like somewhere along the line, you nestled yourself in the hollow parts of me. You’re haunting me, a living ghost, in every waking moment.
Still, in my fantasies, I can see what we could have been. I can see myself spilling my guts to you in the quiet of the public library, you pouring over a book about the space time continuum, me reading a novel. I’d whisper it aloud and you’d look up from your book, eyes widening. My breath would catch, heart hammering in my chest. You’d take my hand, and I’d watch admiration turn to fondness turn to love. And we’d change the world together, because we would have never been able to do anything else.
We were never satisfied with anything, but we could have been satisfied with each other.
I see you in my dreams. We’re older now, and we run into each other at a stuffy charity gala. A common acquaintance tries to introduce us, but we know more about each other than anybody else in the world. Still, we humor them, and I blush when you kiss the back of my hand. You’ll pretend not to know every speech I’ve ever given by heart, and I’ll pretend I haven’t kept every newspaper article ever written about you. You’ll pretend that you don’t own every book I’ve ever written, and I’ll pretend every dedication wasn’t about you. We’ll both smile, and you’ll ask if I want to dance. And just like we did that first time, we collide all over again.
We take the world by storm, and they never see us coming. We’re too much, too young, too passionate, too idealistic, too intense. We’re us again, partners, teammates, masterminds. I charm everyone we meet with a sweet smile and let you spin me around the dance floor. You shake hands and press kisses to my hands when you think no one is looking. We spend our evenings in a library, and you watch with that fond expression as I pace back and forth on top of the table. We write books, speeches, articles, and more with both of our names tangled together on the covers. One day, we’re photographed with wedding bands on our hands, but we never announce anything. Some things belong to us and not to our careers. We’re good together. Better than that, we’re happy together. Best of all, we love each other.
I’m being unfair, and I know it. You’ve always said I was too good with words for my own good. I’m not asking for anything real. I’m not offering you anything real. Just fantasize with me for a moment, and tell me what might have been.
There it is. I’m handing you my heart with both hands. Isn’t it funny I still trust you more than I trust myself? Maybe we can burn the altar of reputation. Maybe one day we’ll throw it all away. Or maybe not. It’s in your hands now, love.

Alicyn Harris

I didn’t mean to do it.
It was an honest mistake.
One minute we were talking and the next your blood was dripping down,
Down onto the floor.
Your beautiful blood coated my hands.
I hadn’t washed it off yet.
I didn’t mean to do it.
Someone had taken over my body.
A puppeteer was above me and I was the marionette,
Unable to fight the strings attached.
I sat on the floor in your pool of fluids.
Your kitchen knife still in my hands.
I didn’t mean to do it.
I would need to bury you.
I would need to mop the floor and wash my hands.
I would need to get the shovel,
And battle the rocky ground for your final resting place.
I dreaded the work.
It was a lovely spring day; the kind of day you always loved.
If you weren’t dead you would’ve been tending to your garden, picking vegetables. But you were dead now,
Because of me.
I tried to feel something other than mild annoyance.
Sadness, fear, excitement, nausea, guilt, joy
Nothing came but emptiness.
Not even your death could make me feel something.
Not even the fear in your eyes when I sank the knife into your soft stomach.
Perhaps I had meant to do it,
On some subconscious level
I meant to do it.

Enoch Jacobus

Bailey Lane

The way I feel Your presence.
Those moments when joy is irresistible.
A smile shined upon my face,
the radiance of Your glory on display.
The sunlight upon my skin,
the beauty of creation.
Your breath gives life to all things.
In awe I stand,
that Someone so magnificent
could love someone so insignificant.
Yet to You I am worth everything.
Being loved by You gives my life meaning.