a poem by Chloe Fang, ’23
Everything will be fine, they say, as mothers and fathers fight desperately behind them, trying to keep their sons and daughters close to them. Everything will be fine. Continue reading “everything is fine”
a poem by Emily Banthin, ’20
Today I walked through a hollow house
accompanied by figures with tattoos
made of silver crosses
hung from the tiny hairs of a neck.
Their eyes were open so wide
I was pretty sure their irises were held in place
by something I do not possess,
because my eyes would have fallen from their sockets,
onto the floor like rocks that make dents in the carpet.
Continue reading “only with a body”
a metals piece by Michelle Lee, ’20
an essay by Jacob Landau, ’22
The lovely sheer of the alloys in her ear overwhelm the natural brightness of her blue eyes popping out of the mysterious shadows in her eyes. Her skin is of a pale rosy color, and yet instead the optic nerve is compelled to observe where the vestibule meets her cochlea and where the devil’s unfortunate return manifests itself in the auditory prowess of mammals. Continue reading “immanuel kant’s utilitarian earbuds”
a vignette by Anjali Jain, ’21
Timmy sits cross-legged on his bed. It’s too dark to see the bright rocket ships zipping across the quilt, but when he stretches out his fingertips, he can feel their shapes, the neat rows of stitching that hold this little universe together.
Continue reading “things that go bump in the night”
a short story by Emily Banthin, 20
Maurice had left me a message not more than twenty-four hours earlier asking me to make the journey from my city apartment out to her suburban cape-style house so we could have the chance to discuss a few matters from earlier on. Those were her exact words: “I thought we could discuss a few matters from earlier on.” In all the time I had known Maurice, about fifteen years now, I would not have chosen to describe her as cryptic.
Continue reading “the one who led me home”