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recycled homework assignment by Rachel Landau, ’16 “Mom, I’m going outside,” Edith said as she closed the front door behind her. A casual walk, she smirked, intending to never return. She wanted the evening at the end of the driveway. A faster disappearing time. Isolate the musical consistent pounding of neckblood overcoming gravity, she thought. Pavement footsteps…
poem by Rebecca Eneyni, ’18 My fingernails bore trenches into my clasped hands, A bead of sweat trickled down the side of my face, Dodging the vein that ticked on my temple, My glazed eyes hid the fire that lurked beneath, No one…ought to know. My eyes darted about the enclosed space, Looking, searching for…
photo & poem by Maia Foley, ’19 It had been two days. She gave him a string Of wound black and blue, Twisted and tied as the knots In his stomach when he finally asked. It had been two months.
poem by Anonymous Being born ugly isn’t always bad. Being born ugly can save you from being bought and sold like furniture. But later you grow pretty.
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