Today, We stand on a stage Held up by our mothers, fathers, ancestors, Being watched by those to come. Maita Baba, Maita Amai, Maita Madzitateguru… Gone are the days, When other hands covered our mouths, Other voices told our stories, Other pens drew black and white lines on our maps That separ
How did I used to write poetry? I thought I would go on forever. If the well only bubbled up with dead tropes and gray-faced images, at least they were comfortable. Better than nothing at all. But now I find myself rushing to lit theory class on a November Thursday. The smell of dead […]
As she called on me to read aloud, a memory swirled warm like a summer breeze across the deep Atlantic: rocking on a black-and-white checked chair by a gas fireplace where my Mom opened Robert Frost and we memorized poems together. She sat close to the flames and melted a h
By Lindsay Jankowski Cookbook for life Imagine life came with a cookbook, chock full of suggestions and answers to all of life’s problems. Unsure how to approach your mom about changing your career? Consult page 552 on “mother-daughter conflict” for a step-by-step list. Think you’re going
By Emma Gail Compton I made the table I eat dinner at. The wood was cheap but sturdy. The stain I chose is a dark oaky red and makes the small round table seem more expensive than it was. One could find something similar at any store, but this table, my table, I made. I […]
By Julia Voyt Pages and pages of 12 size Times New Roman are bled across the paper feverishly, introductions and statistics under methods and conclusions. Not eating food and my bicep is smaller this week I talk faster to my family and I write, write, write. The earth outside smells different and sw
