Shorter University's student-produced literary magazine since 1879.
I screamed when I got tagged
in the front yard of the funeral home
because I couldn’t when I saw
my grandmother’s body in that casket,
stiff and gaunt.
I chased some other kids,
my cream, butterfly-print dress
rippling in the breeze as I ran
farther from the funeral home
and the dark rooms inside it.
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.
It is so beautiful,
how You can take beauty from the ashes, the heartbreak into harmony,
the brokenness into beauty,
the pain into purpose.
It is my joy,
my honor,
my greatest gift,
to be redeemed and loved by You.
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.
Humanity once obeyed sunshine.
Gods were made to worship the powerful orb;
days lived only as long as the sun.
Outside was a necessity, an ignored factor.
No one realized the gift of feeling
raindrops, a tree against your back, wind.
Today, gray paint absorbs my soul.
A painting of nature taunts my desire;
my lock screen reminds me where I am not.
I never knew the blessing of a window
until I spent eight hours longing for truth:
night equal to the day, rain and sun unknown.
The monotony of fluorescent lights demands
retreat. With laptop in hand, I fly to that
table among the wind, trees, and sun.
An hour spent above, knowing the sky, but
phone calls and a dying battery urge me back:
to sit, once again, in the office without windows.
I take a blade to my chest, carving
And peeling it open. Worms engrave around my
Lungs, shaping their catacomb in the
Crevice, and feasting on the vital organs
I need to breathe.
Maggots live there, welcoming all
entertainment. Eating bare bones, ingesting
The intestines.
There they eat away my jaundice hued
Flesh, sucking black blood and green bile.
How they make haste! breeding and
Eating as I try to pick them out.
How pure I am.
