To be a poet is to be alone,to make friends with a penand be familiar with the feel of paper.But to be a poet is not always lonely,for there is inevitably an argument to be had with the trees,a compliment to …
An Ode to Walt Whitman by by Hayley Stoddard
When you sang the song of yourself, you said that you would filter and fibre my blood.You said that you would for wait for methat if I was lost, to keep seekingfor I would find you around some bend in the …
Transformation by Jill Wilcox
The evening sun was glaring as I drifted into my apartment. I was greeted by the sound of running water. Had I left something on? That’s when I noticed the gigantic bulge in the ceiling. The white gypsum drywall swelled, …
The Children of Bolling Air Force Base by Charlotte Kwong
We were the children of soldiers and airmen, and war ruled our blood. We terrorized the neighborhood with plastic lightsabers, garish nerf guns, and barbaric stories. We staged elaborate battles, splitting the neighborhood into warring factions with which to destroy …