Contents
Naked and Fallen
Jenna Citrus
Through Process
Emily Plummer
Tearing at Sores
Regis Louis
The Birth of Our Names
Tesneem Madani
Untitled No. 4
Sarah Kronz
Our Condition
Troy Neptune
On the Fundamentals of Art and the Soul
Ayla Maisey
In the Foreground
Aree Rachel Coltharp
Freedom
Winafret Casto
The Seventeen Seconds of Odette
Rachel Lietzow
Hidden in Sight
Jenna Citrus
Barrio
Casandra Robledo
The Passage
Liam Trumble
Resentment as a Kind of Relief
Eric Kubacki
Beauty Standards
Sarah Kronz
Over the Kanawha
Claire Shanholtzer
Faith
Anne Livingston
For Empty Spaces
Regis Louis
Entropy
Liam Trumble
Culled from the Flock
Deborah Rocheleau
Searching for Divinity
Madeleine Richey
From Pillars to Dust
Madeleine Richey
As Best I Could Do
Hoda Fakhari
In Your Absence
Emma Croushore
Contemplations
Sarah Kronz
The Shadow of Paris
Anika Maiberger
Memories of Home
Audrey Lee
The Beauty in Fracturing
Taylor Woosley
Butcher Paper
Casandra Robledo
Human Scavenger
Devin Prasatek
Babel Was a Second Eden
Luke McCusker
The Painting in Gallery 26
Sydney Crago
Transposing
Ayla Maisey
The Birth of Our Names
“you are young”
They speak in ancient tongues
and cast a spell upon your hands—
hands that have only known
the touch of unvarnished time, the taste
of cherry. But today they are riddled
with the constellations that others
tried to hold. Your palms now carry
a soft, sweet scent, and you have
forgotten its name. The lights dim,
and your ceiling awakens the stars;
you wonder if you will forget
their names, too. Close your eyes
and forget their dialects:
Lyra will lull you to sleep.
years later, they ask you
what you want to be.
you present them with an hourglass.
When you graduate, you leave behind
the girl who spent her childhood
longing for sun, who bit her lips
to insults, who abandoned a garden
of words that never flourished. She is
Sagittarius, an archer without a bow.
She is hydrogen, a heavy heart
that runs from fireflies. She remembers
the fragrance of cherries, but she will
never taste them again. Time
will distance the two of you;
you have already forgotten her name.
You will learn that stories always
begin with their endings, and that
women are born from supernovae.
So when Polaris dies, its light will remain:
you have taken its place.
About The Author
Tesneem Madani is a freshman at Eastern Michigan University majoring in biochemistry. She draws inspiration from the university’s greenhouse as well as her faith, and her best writing comes after sunset. She enjoys warm cups of tea, painting and looking after her birds.