Aerie:
Flashback
Congratulations Aerie: Flashback
on your NCTE REALM First Class Award!
NCTE REALM Map of First Class Winners
Letter from the Editor
Dear Reader,
We proudly present Aerie 2020: Flashback to your screens! Inside the magazine, you will find pieces submitted from past issues of Aerie. We hope that when you ‘flashback’ you find that high school students aren't all that different today.
I would love to say thank you to everyone who submitted their pieces for this year's special edition of Aerie. We enjoy reading and analyzing the submissions we collect and it’s no doubt my favorite part about Aerie. I’m proud of our hard working staff and dedicated group of editors that made this magazine come to life. Sophia Toth and Madison Thorn came to the rescue during our layout process and made the pages look beautiful! I’m so happy with how the 2020 Aerie staff came up with such a clever theme and so many creative ways to incorporate it into the magazine.
Huge thanks to Mrs. Bruzzese, because without her, this magazine wouldn't be possible. She supports us in our craziest endeavors and makes everyone in the class feel included. The Aerie staffers wouldn't be nearly as ‘cute, fun, and friendly’ without her!
Katie Thorn
Editor-in-Chief
Letter from the Advisor
Dear Staff of Aerie,
Every year I am amazed at the Aerie staff who begin with nothing and end with the latest (and always my favorite) issue of Aerie. It isn't often, however, that a group of students comes together to do what you have done this year. (Of course, it isn't often--ever--that a group of students has to deal with a pandemic.)
This year was quite different. Not only did you begin with nothing, but also you didn't even have the knowledge and experience of previous issues to guide you. You had to find and learn a new format. You had to work largely on your own from home. You had to solve your own problems and correct your own missteps. You had to be inventive and creative. You had to lead when I could not. And, not one of you complained. Not once.
You have amazed me with your willingness, effort and ability to re-create Aerie. I am so proud of you. You should be proud of yourselves. You have never been cuter, more fun or friendlier. :)
Thank you for this gift that you have given to Fairmont (and to me). I am grateful.
Very truly yours,
B
Acknowledgements
A huge and heartfelt thank you to the following people for being invaluable in the production of Aerie: Flashback:
Mr. Jared Parker -- For photographing and scanning our art to make it look it's best, even during a pandemic.
Mr. Irwin and Mr. Pupo -- For helping digital Aerie to become a reality this year.
Mr. Phil Thorn -- For providing Aerie with essential technical insights.
The Firebird English Department -- For pushing everything Aerie related.
Lauren Patchett and Shamus Clark -- For designing our beautiful cover and putting up with multiple (multiple) suggestions for revision.
Disclaimer
Words hold tremendous power. They possess the ability to start and end wars and eras. They make us laugh and cry; by them we fall in love or out of it again. Words illustrate the way we live. Sometimes, we live beautiful, eloquent, grammatically correct lives. Other times we live roughly with a little more crassness and a little less punctuation. Nonetheless, we live and communicate through the words we share with the world.
Aerie represents the power of words. Within this publication, you will find the silliness, anger, passion, joy, sorrow, and most importantly the talent of Fairmont students. The emotions expressed in Aerie are not intended to reflect the views of the Fairmont High School staff. They are simply intended to move you, our readers, and to help you see the world through a different lens. The grammatical structure within these works is as they were submitted to us; perhaps with the intent to evoke emotion, despite proper grammar rules.
With that in mind, go ahead. Read on. Be awed by the power of words.
Authors & Artists in Order of Appearance
Jessica Pierce -- chair
Michael Breslin -- I AM SITTING IN A ROOM FAR AWAY
Leah Lambert -- Butterfly
Chenyan Zhu -- Spring
Taylor Olshove -- Water Drop Photography
Ashleigh Worley -- My heart is a forest. You are the spark.
Allison Folkerth -- Fall (2019)
Howling Quadruped -- Fall (2010)
Caitlyn Wilgus -- Untitled
Sophia Roy -- Firebreather
Mrs. Emily Bruzzese -- Breakfast For One
Fabrice Uwihirwe -- I find you
Mr. Tim Guindon -- Desmos Art
Mr. Jon Cridge -- Losing in Order to Win: A Parrondo Paradox
Anonymous -- Lost in Their Thoughts
Sam Callinan -- Time Slowed in a Fast Moving Society
Leah Lambert -- Bunch O' Flowers
Lada Gallant -- I went for a walk
Amilee Boston -- Untitled
Sam Callinan -- Stopping Traffic
Mrs. Amy Webb -- The Rush
Val Kronson -- Storm (2016)
Molly Mitchell -- Untitled
Fabrice Uwihirwe -- Social Dance
Bailey Atkinson -- Limbo
Fabrice Uwihirwe -- Love
Jessica Pierce -- Untitled
Madison Thorn -- Blueberry
Sophia Toth -- fresa
Gabe Stone -- Untitled
Thomas G. Harner -- The Old Man
Sofia Brandt -- Untitled
Isabella Drozd -- Intimacy
Oliver Santos -- Weighted
Collin Thomas -- Oblivion
Madison Thorn -- Ode to The Cool Blue Sea
Sophia Toth -- whale
Anthony San Martin -- Nature Double Exposure
David Slivinski -- Another World
Anthony San Martin -- Glass Bottles
Amilee Boston -- Untitled
Olivia Rose -- Marvelous Metal
Renee -- My Rose
Sam Callinan -- Half Face
Katelyn Grosshart -- Shadow Over The Moon
Isabelle Wiedenheft -- Fly Me To The Moon
Allison Folkerth -- Granny Candy
Love Nyumah -- How to Get Away With Murder
Madison Thorn -- Hello?
Love Nyumah -- Parking Lot
Sophia Toth -- Dig a Little Deeper
Ellie Lehman -- Brokenly Complete
Olivia Rose -- Ode To Mr. Rogers
Mr. Blair Albright -- Die Like a Dog
Ms. Kelsey Mann -- When We Sold Our Home
John Gaeke -- American Classic
Sophia Toth -- long
Kelli Slivinski -- Untitled
James Sharpe -- Echoes
Sophia Toth -- Soldier
Mr. Blair Albright -- Aspiring To Inspire: The Life and Legacy of Kobe Bryant
Mia Howard -- Untitled
Shelby Wedderburn -- Untitled
Ms. Kelsey Mann -- How to Survive a Minimum Wage Restaurant Job
Jessica Pierce -- Untitled
Madison Thorn -- Untitled
Mr. Ryan Lamb -- Why, Arveragus, Why?: True Knightly Behavior in "The Franklin's Tale"
Amilee Boston -- Untitled
Fabrice Uwihirwe -- The Wanderer
Sarah Allen -- Lesbian
Madison Thorn -- Untitled
Hayden Sprance -- Untitled
Sophia Toth -- Within the Castle Walls
Jessica Pierce -- Cotton
Joshua Copley -- Adventure Awaits
Michaela Brannan -- Walking on Water
Katelyn Grosshart -- Experiment
Olivia Rose -- It
Anonymous -- "Other Girls" (2018)
Anonymous -- Girls
Ellen Jones -- Kaleidoscope Eyes
Ellen Jones -- Askew
Fabrice Uwihirwe -- Carpe Diem
Payton Probasco -- Peace
Jessica Pierce -- Sporks
Olivia Rose -- Hairbrush
Caden Sloan -- A thousand bucks
Amilee Boston -- Untitled
Love Nyumah -- Balloon Boy
MaKenna Ansley -- Untitled
Mrs. Emily Bruzzese -- Green In Nature (2010)
Megan Bingamon -- Hidden City
Ms. Juliet MonBeck -- Canis lupus familiaris
Olivia Rose -- Untitled
Mrs. Amy Webb -- The Twenty-Fourth Floor
Autumn Huelsman -- Mischievous Lights
Fabrice Uwihirwe -- Meaningful Glances
Noah Lovely -- The Licc
Charlotte Nieberding -- Homecoming
Isabella Richardson -- Lost in the Lights
Grady Cokins -- Untitled
Jessica Pierce -- Angel
Anonymous -- PTSD
Ian McCall -- In the Still of the Night
Ms. Rebecca Riffle -- Cotidie: Every Day
Allison Folkerth -- There Was a Man in My Fridge
Lauren Miles -- When I Was Your Age... (2016)
Chad Pope -- Cycles (1990)
chair
Jessica Pierce
I AM SITTING IN A ROOM FAR AWAY:
Michael Breslin
I am sitting in a room far away. My hands are empty, and sitting on my knees with the palms turned toward the ceiling. Wind cools the tears that roll down the sides of my cheeks as they meet at my chin. I heard it once. Just one call and then... deafening silence. I can feel the same air pulling and tugging in and out of my lungs. I didn’t see it but I heard it cry out. It had been quiet for so long that I urinated on my pants when it broke through the air. My eyelashes struggled to pull themselves apart as I stretched out my hands toward the sound. A moan tore out from my throat as I tried to cry out. My eyes adjusted to light as I looked around deliriously. Woozy from standing up too quickly I stumbled back, tripped, and felt my head slam into the concrete wall. Blood sank deep into the wall as my body slid to the floor. Looking at the ceiling now I can remember exactly what it felt like. The feeling of something tearing through the air. I remember the way it hurt my arms. The way it made every hair inside my ear arch and sway. I am sitting in a room far away. I am not waiting for anything because nothing is going to come. Nothing was ever here.
Butterfly
Leah Lambert
Spring
Chenyan Zhu
Spring breath wheezes
As summer heat freezes
Winter weather has gone away
Falling leaves of trembling fall
Have sprung back to the balded tree
In my family, I have a tree
A mother
A father
A brother and
Two sisters
We’re all a family in the branch of the tree
Our lives spring out through the branches
My brother’s a bulb in the tree trunk spikes
My father is the trunk
As my mother is the leaves
My sisters are twigs in the widened tree
Flowers far and wide
Upon their future lives
I’m just a rotten branch upon a thousand dead birds
My spikes are long and too thick to cut
I have no luck for there is no sun to shine
My branch is torn and curved in pieces
I wish it would just fall to the ground of green
The green bright grass where they all lay
Where they all stood upon the dead of the dead
Where life is endless
Where air is thick
Where no sounds pass but our souls in distress
I wish I would just fall upon that breeding tree
I wish to give more to those who needs it
I wish to fall from that tree
Allowing my brother to bloom as bright as the flowers
Where his branch will reach up to the sky where mine could not
I wish my sisters to have their space
When this branch falls they’ll have their room
Water Drop Photography
Taylor Olshove
Untitled
Caitlyn Wilgus
Firebreather
Sophia Roy
Breakfast for One
Mrs. Emily Bruzzese
I find you
Fabrice Uwihirwe
I find you
embedded in concepts
of happiness and everlasting romance
maybe
because we never had them
I find you
in bittersweet songs
about heartbreak and broken promises
at least
we had those
I find you
absent from my side
walking away as
amorphous figures
form and hold you close
and years later
I wonder
if you ever look back
Desmos Art
Mr. Tim Guindon
Lost in Their Thoughts
Anonymous
Have you ever been taking a test, and you’re so in your head you forget time is passing? The room is so still yet your brain has so much going on. Whether it's math and you feel like equations are being scribbled in the air above your head, or it’s a timed write and the narrative of your essay is like a movie scene playing out in your mind.
Sometimes, when I am testing, reading, or writing a timed essay and everyone in the class is in their thoughts, I like to imagine those white, cloud-like thought bubbles over everyone’s head. I see my classmates in those thought bubbles, talking to themselves, acting out Hamlet, or picturing that one problem on the study sheet they’re forgetting. I become amazed at how many thoughts there are floating around the room, how loud the thoughts are, yet the room is silent.
There’s a weird feeling you get when everyone around you is so focused on something and you’re not a part of that trance-like state. It’s as if time is paused; it almost feels like a movie. But sometimes you’re part of the focus, and maybe someone’s looking at you, imagining your thoughts above your head. Seeing you present your argument to why Daisy is responsible for Gatsby’s death, plotting points on a graph, or reading about taking a test and forgetting time is passing.
Time Slowed in a Fast Moving Society
Sam Callinan
Bunch O' Flowers
Leah Lambert
I went for a walk
Lada Gallant
I went for a walk,
I am very muddy now
Earth, take your dirt back
Untitled
Amilee Boston
Stopping Traffic
Sam Callinan
Untitled
Molly Mitchell
Social Dance
Fabrice Uwihirwe
I’ve become adept at this social dance
Flash a smile, a few nods and a glance
To convey I’m comfortable, at ease,
and spreading joy around like a disease
Hang with the right crowds to blend in,
Snapping pics of this world I fit well in
Always showing my good side, since I
Can never know whose piercing eye
is attempting to steal a quick look
Into the messy pages of my closed book
full of betrayal, grudges, and treachery,
Baggage I want existing only in memory
Similar baggage that others possess
But also hide by giving smiles in excess
So we revert back to our ruse, hence
We’re stuck, forever, in this social dance
Limbo
Bailey Atkinson
Love
Fabrice Uwihirwe
Moon’s pull
Waning tides
Puppet strings
My identity dies
Why do we search
For such complexity
When all it does is
Take what’s left of me
I’m pulled towards you
like high tides at noon
and I come crashing
down just as soon
I’m pulled towards you
like a ventriloquist’s doll,
for the strings of affection
move me whenever you call
Why do we search
For such complexity
When all it does is
Take what’s left of me
Love.
Untitled
Jessica Pierce
Blueberry
Madison Thorn
Blueberry
Sweet and tangy,
A bite on your tongue.
A delicious flavor,
In memories, so young.
In muffins and tarts,
“Eat these, you'll be smart”.
Warm and gooey
Or cold and chewy.
Good for breakfast and dessert,
Try just one, I promise it won't hurt.
You'll be obsessed,
They are the best.
Blueberry, oh blueberry,
My love for you, it will never vary.
fresa
Sophia Toth
Untitled
Gabe Stone
The Old Man
Thomas G. Harner
He lit his little cigarette,
Lips curled and eyes focused
On the dull waves whooshing forwards.
I had never met this man before:
A brown bomber jacket
Worn out Cincinnati Reds hat
And a sulky beard white as the ice caps.
I asked in my tedium,
“Why do you bother living now?”
Ruthlessly I asked.
The old man looked down
At his footprints on the beach
Flooded and smudged they were.
He glanced back at my face and said—
“Every single morning I wake up,
Eat breakfast
Comb my hair
Turn on the radio
And listen to the Cincinnati Reds coverage.
On game days I keep a keen ear.
When they don’t play, I smoke on the porch.
Is that good enough?”
Then he flew his cigarette into the ocean
To be washed away like a useless memory.
Untitled
Sofia Brandt
Intimacy
Isabella Drozd
You guide me into your bedroom
and kiss my lips softly
whispering “I love you” while
You lay your hands on my hips.
Your eyes undress me
before your hands get a chance.
I am now naked in front of you.
Vulnerable.
Shy.
You pick me up in your arms
at first glance.
Your hands begin to admire what your eyes
couldn’t see.
You told me you wouldn’t want to be anywhere
else but with me.
The blanket is cascaded over us.
Your long arm is draped over my waist.
The blue light from the television illuminates
the dark bedroom.
You kiss the back of my shoulder and tell me
You love me one more time before we both
Slip into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I wake up
cold in my own bed.
Nature Double Exposure
Anthony San Martin
Another World
David Slivinski
Glass Bottles
Anthony San Martin
Untitled
Amilee Boston
Marvelous Metal
Olivia Rose
Death, screamo, glam, and thrash,
All categories of metal.
With rough, screechy, yelling voices
That sound like a stinging nettle.
All about Nazis, death, and Satan,
Their songs filled with hate.
“Turn it off!” they yell,
But they underestimate
The feelings inside
That only metal brings.
Yo-Yo Ma can’t compete
With his puny little strings.
It gets rooted in your heart
And makes you wanna shout.
They can hate all they want.
Metal will never die out.
My Rose
Renee
In thine eyes, the burning blaze,
The one that averts my heeding gaze.
One can linger in thy maze,
The one that is my rose.
In thy smile, I find the moon,
Fair as snow, yet warm as June.
Exchange of rain for flowers' bloom,
The one that is my rose.
Tranquil storm in longing night,
Shallow plash of blue ignite.
Light thine candle, burning bright,
The one that is my rose.
Grace of silk, touch of Thor,
Guardian of forever yore,
Dance along the winding shore,
The one that is my rose.
Half Face
Sam Callinan
.
How to Get Away With Murder
Love Nyumah
Night falls with the blood
Hide the body, grind the bones
Move quick, they are near
Hello?
Madison Thorn
Parking Lot
Love Nyumah
Dig a Little Deeper: Sestina
Sophia Toth
for Ellie
Note: A sestina is a poetic form with six stanzas of six lines each and a final triplet, all stanzas having the same six words at the end of each line in six different sequences that follow a fixed pattern.
Click to open in a new tab.
Brokenly Complete
Ellie Lehman
Ode to Mr. Rogers
Olivia Rose
How wonderful it is to have a neighbor
Who returns to me day after day,
Like worms wriggling on the sidewalk
After a long summer rain.
It’s a guarantee they’ll be there,
Waiting for my smiling face to greet them.
From your shoes to your sweater,
Your songs to your smiles,
You filled my heart with hope and joy.
Even though I’m seventeen
And you have been gone for a while,
I still look back on the memories you gave me,
And I know things will turn out alright.
You taught me to cry when things got bad,
To pound some clay when I was mad,
That my parents love me, although they’re separated,
To love everyone, even if they’re different,
And to always feed your fish.
You stood like a king in our fondest dreams.
Your royal subjects were puppets
And your horse and carriage, a trolley.
Now I help others to grow
And defend what I know is just.
I loved you, then and now, with my entire heart,
And I knew you loved me back.
When We Sold Our Home
Ms. Kelsey Mann
Based on the poem "When We Sold the Tent" by Rhina P. Espaillat
When my parents sold our house
we gave away the backyard campouts
big blankets under a bigger tree under the biggest blanket of stars,
smell of grass all around
sounds of the creek swishing nearby.
We let them have the mismatched kitchen
whose cabinets were first peach
then blue
then white,
the floor with the jagged marks
from too-playful dog nails and the verboten roller skates.
Long, arching driveway,
perfect for giving yourself an edge over the competition in bike races,
where neighborhood kids would find their marks and get set.
The times we saw deer and coyotes and rabbits trample their way through the lawn
to pause for a moment at the mouth of the driveway and stare,
looking for a clear sign of direction for where to adventure.
Eyes like moons when my mother,
the visionary,
painted over the wood paneling “marigold”,
a color we said was rejected from McDonalds
for being too much “mustard”, not enough “golden arches”.
She tried her best to spruce up that little ranch to make it something sustainable,
the outcome distressing, her efforts valiant.
American Classic
John Gaeke
long
Sophia Toth
Untitled
Kelli Slivinski
Untitled
Mia Howard
Untitled
Shelby Wedderburn
Untitled
Jessica Pierce
Untitled
Madison Thorn
Untitled
Amilee Boston
The Wanderer
Fabrice Uwihirwe
I feel like
I have no purpose,
which could explain my slow gait,
unhurried
and lacking direction
while everyone rushes about
with purpose;
father, mothers,
lovers,
siblings,
promises, and dreams
strengthen the resolve of their walk
while mine
lacks conviction
Untitled
Madison Thorn
Untitled
Hayden Sprance
I am a broken birdcage.
My bones are rusted and twisted
Into a grotesque shadow of my youth.
Tendons twist and curve,
Shaping the outline of my body
As they draw attention to the infinitesimal details
No one but I would notice.
It seems as if this is the only outcome imaginable.
Compressed lungs
And strangled ribs struggle to breathe
As they ache for a better life
Under the pressure of a thousand years.
One day I will breathe freely.
Untethered from the chains of my captor.
One day,
Their violence and hateful speech
Will no longer taint
My pristine birdcage.
I am my own unavoidable sin.
Dirty and adulterated.
Unable to shut out
And hide from the world.
My body was once a birdcage.
My heart fluttered and sang
A song of hope and peace
That led me to unravel the never-ending knot
That is my identity.
Cotton
Jessica Pierce
Adventure Awaits
Joshua Copley
Walking on Water
Michaela Brannan
Experiment
Katelyn Grosshart
It
Olivia Rose
It sought refuge in the Pine Barrens
After that fateful day with its mother.
It slaughtered its would-be family
And killed the doctors one after another.
It sprouted horns, hooves, and fangs,
All covered with hair and feathers.
Talons broke through its skin
Along with bat wings made of leather.
Its eyes glowed red, an evil red.
The creature couldn’t be from this world.
It was a demon, the work of the devil,
Come straight from the underworld.
It let out a howl from its snarling face
And flew deep into the night,
But not before some locals caught
A terrifying sight.
One such local was an artist
Who knew what he had to do.
He sat down and drew the thing,
A task no one could outdo.
Three hundred years went by
And the whispers still remain.
The immortal creature in the woods
Still causes the small town strain.
I know it all sounds crazy,
The creature’s validity is unclear.
But if you hear its cry and feel its bite,
It’s the New Jersey Devil my dear.
Kaleidoscope Eyes
Ellen Jones
Askew
Ellen Jones
Carpe Diem
Fabrice Uwihirwe
The bird’s calling is soft
and quiet,
familiar to the mornings of the listener;
the moon is long gone,
the stars faded behind the clouds.
The sun embarks on its journey
to the middle of the sky
and will soon descend
to conclude another summer day;
the day lays ahead like an unwritten story,
a cicada’s chirp provides the prologue,
opened eyes the start of the chapter,
and his yawn the first unspoken dialogue
in the novel that was his summer.
The senses kick in,
the bird’s calling is now clear and lucid,
his surroundings come in focus,
and all that’s left now is
to seize the day.
Peace
Payton Probasco
Sporks
Jessica Pierce
Sporks.
The mix between a fork and a spoon,
The catch is: it sucks at being either.
The tines of the spork are too small to pick up things like steak or broccoli.
The spoon portion is too small and shallow for soup or stew.
In the search for efficiency, we found incompetency.
By trying to be two things at once the spork
Became the worst utensil.
Hairbrush
Olivia Rose
My bristles stand alert,
Waiting for her return.
I love the feel of her soft hair
Weaving its way around me,
Like a blanket made of silk.
When a tangle arises,
I take my time to unknot,
Careful not to take any hair with me.
But alas, she’s in a hurry,
And her elegant threads get ripped out,
Coming to stay with me
Until I’m no longer needed.
Maybe one day,
After she’s through,
I could weave a small blanket,
With dust bunnies and split ends,
And I’ll hold it close
And remember her beauty.
A thousand bucks
Caden Sloan
As I ran through the adjacent neighborhoods of my high school on that normal January day,
As I smelled the clean, crisp air of nature,
I turned on the street into Hills & Dales Park
Going from flat, simple asphalt to uneven ground
From dry, open areas to a labyrinth-like trail with roots sticking up out of the ground
I hopped over the narrow, winding creek just like I always had
But then he caught my eye
He had some sort of walking devices, not quite like crutches but close to them
“I’d give a thousand bucks if I could do that!”
He hollered cheerily at my teammates and me
I simply smiled at him
My friends replied with a “yeah” sandwiched between two uncomfortable chuckles
After we’d passed the man, we continued up the hill until he was no longer in sight
Looking back, all I saw were bare trees
Some upright, some that were blown over by the storm the night before
No one said anything about it, there was just typical runners conversation
“How many miles left?”
“What’s our pace?”
“How do your legs feel?”
My first thought was
“Wow, he can move pretty well considering his circumstances”
But then I considered my circumstances
How many people wished they could do something that I didn’t think twice about?
Untitled
Amilee Boston
Balloon Boy
Love Nyumah
Hidden City
Megan Bingamon
Canis lupus familiaris
Ms. Juliet MonBeck
In the dark of night, I open the door of my domicile
To release my descendant of wolves from detention
So that she can cower at the sight of birds, bunnies,
And functionally defenseless marsupials.
Who, in turn, have gotten sassy and intrepid in their incursions.
They needn’t swell their heads over any perceived victory.
The enemy they have vanquished may look like 65 pounds
Of golden-furred, sharp-toothed, evolutionary excellence,
But she is equally terrified of crinkly plastic bags, bouncy balls,
Scooching chairs, and unexpected piles of laundry
As she is of the backyard intruders she was acquired to ward off.
I shoo unwelcome guests away so the predator can spend
The next twenty minutes picking the perfect place to deposit
The remains of organic salmon and wild rice kibble.
I soak an anti-flea pill in bacon grease and say a prayer that
She won’t spit it out like a baby’s first taste of peas.
I clean out her water dish to remove debris and pick up the
Stuffed toys, tennis balls, and displaced socks that litter the den
Before checking calendars to confirm grooming appointments.
Finally, I remove obstacles in the hall so skittishness is avoided
On her way to rest on a mattress developed by NASA
And marvel at how well her species has adapted to its environment.
Untitled
Olivia Rose
Mischievous Lights
Autumn Huelsman
Meaningful Glances
Fabrice Uwihirwe
a few meaningful glances
lead to
a few daytime trances
thinking of the way your
long, coppery-brown hair dances
with each step taken;
these feelings are not those
that are mutual, and it shows
when my eyes linger for more
than a moment trying to bore
into your thoughts, a deliberate
effort intended to hold weight
and allow you to finally see
I am a mess when you give me
those meaningful glances
The Licc
Noah Lovely
Untitled
Grady Cokins
Angel
Jessica Pierce
In the Still of the Night
Ian McCall
Note from Ms. Riffle: I sat down to write and I ended up typing up a kind of transcript of phrases that we often say in my Latin class mixed with my own expressions. This transcript is meaningful to me and possibly to Latin students who hear these phrases often enough to understand without peeking at the English.
There was a man in my fridge
Allison Folkerth
There was a man in my fridge, which you can imagine was a very unwelcome surprise for three in the morning. It was extremely rude of him, appearing in my fridge without a word of warning nor a request of permission. He just showed up out of the blue, staring at me with nasty, beady eyes and a grin filled with crooked teeth. He didn't have a hair on his head, his fingers were far too long, and his clothes were old, stained and nasty. You'd think if a man were to barge into my kitchen, wedge himself into my fridge, spill leftovers all over my shelves and inconvenience me at an extremely unreasonable time, he would at least have the courtesy of being the slightest bit attractive. Yet I wasn't able to deal with him, I was far, far too busy. So, I reached behind him and grabbed an intact Tupperware of last night’s rotini, before closing the door behind me, letting him rot away like all the rest of them seem to. I still have to feed the man locked in my basement, after all.