Once again, we welcome you to Profound Lettuce.

These are the works of members of the Fall 2021 and Fall 2022 English 30AB Creative Writing Classes, Sections 4093/4097 and Sections 4091/4095 at Santa Monica College. These new writers share original works with us. Do join them again at the table of Profound Lettuce.

Copyright is held by the authors and Santa Monica College.

PERIL by Taylor Capizola

A voice, smooth and kind
Words glistened with dewy hope
From the stars to the sky to the earth
To the empty space between my mind

I hear her always, the chronic hum
Of a whirling fan on the summer’s solstice
The only reprieve while the sun
Hangs unobstructed at the apex of sky

But a fickle beast, she is—
Undecided, unpredictable
The guttural roar deep in her throat
The fungus that grows
after the most beautiful flower
In all her wisdom and beauty and age
Withers into the earth below.

On my knees, tears in my eyes
I beg her for my salvation
“I have atoned”
I have I have I have
She decides if I have lied
Chronically and with ill will
And I will be punished

The cacophony of bells
Tolling—reaching a fever’s pitch
In the vast hollowness inside of me

I grab my head, the crescendo
Threatening to swallow me
And throw me into the belly
While she screams
And screams
And screams

Please, please.
She’s the only one who can save me.
Please, save me.

UNCANNY VALLEY by Taylor Capizola

The air hung like a canopy of saturation, consuming her as she walked along the poorly
paved sidewalk. Almost home, Georgia thought. One more transfer, two more stops. That’s all.
She reached the bus stop, half decayed and absorbed into the wildly growing lush around
it. Georgia jumped over cracks on the sidewalk—
“It
’ll break your lover
’s back”—careful to
dodge piles of glass and cans littered about. Using the choreography she used daily, she
jumped—but then slipped—into a questionable puddle near the only seat.
“Christ,” she muttered, tugging the now-stained edges of her corduroy pants away from
her shoes. You left them too long, should
’ve just cut them, she thought.
“Should’ve just cut them,” an eerily familiar voice, disembodied in the night, rung out.
Georgia spun, her stomach dropping. She hadn’t spoken aloud.
“Hello?” Georgia called, her face flushed.

“Hello?” A voice—no, her voice—called back.
The blood shifted in Georgia’s brain, a rush of adrenaline shooting like fire through her
veins.“Who’s there?” She called again, more frightened than she wanted to let on.
“Who’s there?” Her voice repeated. She choked down bile, stepping backward. She
peered left, then right, down the dark sidewalks. Nothing. Just dense green and darkness against
a dark purple sky.
“I—I have pepper spray. I’ll ruin your whole life,” She screamed, stumbling into the
buzzing glare of the dark amber streetlight. “Who is there?” Anger and fear lent a peculiar
strength to her tone.
Silence.
Her eyes darted, wild, searching the foliage as the light from twilight dimmed. She
couldn’t see—or could she? Anything?
Buzzing? No. Rumbling…of tires. Georgia spun, welcoming the familiar, blinding light of the
bus heading toward her. Almost forgetting the odd experience she just had, she stepped forward,
ready to escape the damp, cool night that felt like a million pounds on her chest.
But as the bus lights came into display, her heart sank. The bus displayed S4: LOGAN
CIRCLE. Dammit. She was waiting for the S2. She choked back her anguish, sitting in the seat
behind her. She settled into being an acquaintance to the night.
The bus screeched forward to a halt, lining up Georgia with a young woman with onyx hair and
eyes. The woman peered out the window, not necessarily at Georgia, but toward her. She looks
so sad, Georgia thought, almost mesmerized by the woman’s melancholy. Her hair fell in almost
perfect slats, covering her eyes barely, just barely… but they radiated pain. Dread.
As the bus revved back to life, Georgia met the woman’s gaze. Georgia smiled, her eyes
squinting with the bizarre, wide grin she could feel herself making against her will. Her cheeks
flushed, burning red from her muscles straining.
But the woman didn’t smile back—not at all. Her eyes changed from sad, despondent to
wide—terrified, even. The whites of her eyes exploded, reducing her dark eye’s to only pinpricks. Her eyes obliterated the balance of her face, growing wider, more terrified, more
frantic, and the plump red of her lips followed. Her mouth shifted from a fine line to a wide,
hollow O: An open, silent scream that pierced the night like a cacophony of noises that make
your skin crawl. Georgia recoiled, her hands flying to cover her eyes as her face remained
grinning, unmoving. The woman’s index finger raised slowly, intentionally and shaking, as she
pointed at—no…beyond?—Georgia, into the darkness behind her.
Before Georgia could look think—before she could breathe—the bus rolled ahead, out of sight
and into the darkness ahead.

Sunday by Marley Chaney

I look closer now
I hear the gentle thrum and patter
against my roof
Innocent, comforting
My eyes brighten
and my lips upturn at the edges
as a memory emerges
Yellow rain boots and large puddles
Beckoning in the pale light
When I stare at my ceiling long enough
the cracks seem to blend together…
blind contour drawings
of the heartbeat that moves my house
Sometimes I purposefully get bored
so that my mind can wander,
escape the confines of my judgmental thoughts
and simply admire the above
And for now, I’m content

Through the Mirror by Marley Chaney

When I was little my grandmother would come and visit us for months at a time. I remember, like
clockwork, waking up at dawn every morning, peering into her room to see if she was awake, and of
course, she always was. I’d scurry to the bed and watch her get ready. I can still picture her perfectly. A
fierce yet gentle complexion, big crooked teeth, the fading hint of an English accent. She was captivating,
and beautiful, and so wise, and her presence could fill up any room she’d walk into. I’d curl up, making
sure not to blink, making sure not to miss a single moment. She’d brush her face with powder and put on
red lipstick that would stain my cheeks. She’d drown herself in rose perfume that would permeate the air
and make my eyes water. I’d watch her come alive, slowly at first and then all at once. Soft whispers to
resounding laughs.
Although appearing rather mundane, watching her get ready for the day was hardly ever that. She showed
me that humans are strange, and complex, and miraculous and we really have no idea what’s going on in
anyone’s heads but our own. “You know yourself best. You will always know yourself best” she would
say over and over again, staring at me through the mirror. This both comforted me and scared me…”what
if I have no idea what’s going on in my head?” I remember her laughing “oh honey, that’s why we’re
here. We have our whole lives to figure that out. To immerse ourselves, to open our hearts, to be afraid, to
love, to learn, to forget, to learn and grow again and again. It’s something you’ll constantly be discovering and rediscovering. I still am… sometimes I think I’ve grown so used to disguising myself to
others that I’ve become disguised to myself.”
I remember her speaking to me as if I was her close friend, as if I could fully relate to what she was
talking about. I prided myself in that, because I knew she was letting me in. It didn’t matter that I was
young, clueless and shielded from so many harsh realities. She was honest with me. Only now have I
really come to understand everything she was talking about. I truly had to live to experience anything.
And she was right, I would need my whole life to figure out what it all meant for myself.

“Can You Play Something Good?” by Ashley Cooper

It was almost pathetic the way he looked at me.
His blood shot eyes and swollen pupils looked up at me in awe.
And in one long slur he confessed to me how much he loved me.
And how much he had always loved me.
He compared my green eyes to blue oceans and started playing a song on his phone
shortly after his confession that I hated.

But none of this mattered because there was a part of me that loved him.
And that had always loved him.
It was almost pathetic the way I looked back at him.
Like I didn’t mind his taste in music or that when he looked deeply into my eyes he
couldn’t make out the color of them.

Vessel by Leah Joven

I feel the presence of someone who isn’t me.

A creation of God, carved from chiseled moonstone
with careful, calloused palms.
patiently chipping away at His image
in a vast studio,
the invisible air that oxygenates my body.

A creation of man, sculpted out of red clay
with unknowing, feverish fingertips.
eagerly molding a sandcastle without blueprints
in a fertile garden,
the earthbound plot of land claimed by a single seed.

This soft object I call “myself”
is uncomfortably full
with the shards of stardust
and grains of flesh
that exists beyond and within.

Waves Crash Then Calm by Omid Mansory

Waves crash then calm
Crazy nights and tsunamis
Cool nights and low tides
The waves erode the cliff of time
Wash away toxins as
The tides bring new experiences
The storm passes
The water still as earth
A blank canvas
An opportunity to reinvent self
To drift where the waters easy
Where the sun denies the storm

Trapped and Lonely by Chris Matias

They rolled me down the hall as they have for the past 20 years. I wouldn’t say the time has
flown by but dragged along. I stayed in my usual spot, the first table right next to the door. I
chose this spot the first week I got here. The plan was when my family came to visit I would be
the first to see them. Well, that sadly never happened: weeks turned to months turned to years
and nothing, no visits, no calls, no letters, nothing. I’ve been wanting to move tables but there’s
something in me that can’t seem to pull the trigger, I guess I’m still waiting for them. I continue
my day just like all the previous breakfasts in the yard and the same old activities that seemingly
get boring each day. It was Saturday so it was social day, but it was hard to get anyone to talk
to, most not even remembering their name better yet what’s going on in the world. So I sat there
in the main hall. It was at its max capacity at least that what it looked liked each seat taken up
except for the one right next to mine. I actually preferred that no one to bother me and plus I
never got to know anyone’s name. My thought was that I wasn’t going to be here long. But it
was fine. I got used to it. I sat in silence falling in and out of sleep, my eyes trying to shut but as
soon as they did there was a thud on the table I sat at. I looked up and there was this man that I
haven’t seen before in the facility. He wore a nurse’s uniform with the name tag reading Uriel. I
was too scared to look at him so I kept my gaze on the floor looking at his shoes hoping to
notice even the slightest clue to figure out who this was. I felt out of place. I can’t explain it like
I’m in the same seat I was at but there was no one just me and this mysterious person. All I
could feel were his piercing eyes locked onto me. He tapped me on the shoulder and I shook
and a rush of cold went through my body. I tried to ignore him but he kept calling my name over
and over, I gave in and quickly turned to see who it was. I looked right into his eyes and all I saw
were two large mirrors for eyes. I was staring right back at myself. I closed mine and when they
reopened I wasn’t in the center anymore. It was a warehouse. There were no windows but it
was bright as day. I wandered around searching to see if there was anyone to explain what had
just happened. I continued calling out every name I knew in hopes of a response but no one
was there, no one to help. As I collapsed to the ground, tears rushing down my cheeks I
accepted that this was gonna be how I go out cold and alone. Out of nowhere a voice calmly
said to me “This isn’t the way you wanna go out” I was puzzled, got up and wiped the tears
away. The voice sounded oddly familiar, it was me. It continued on “You and me both know what I am talking about” and it was correct I did know. I closed my eyes and pictured it, they
took me back to my room and assisted me with getting to bed. As they would turn off the lights
and I stared at the ceiling the same question pondered my mind as I slept every night “ Did I do
enough and if I did then why am I here alone” this often ended with no answers and tears. I
opened my eyes again, still stuck in god knows where. This time there was more than just a
voice there was a person there sitting down with a chair next to them inviting me to join.I slowly
limped there she came rushing to help me as she seated me next to her chair she also got a
screen ready. As she did that I admired her. I mean she was just like me but smiling, happy and
full of life. She sat down next to me with a warm aura around her, she told me to watch. We sat
there as home movies played and she embraced me, it was a feeling that I haven’t felt in so
long I didn’t know how to react. The movie played and we watched birthdays after birthdays
pass but not mine but my children all I could see were smiles, kisses, and hugs all around. I saw
my 3 children grow up in mere minutes. What was a lifetime summed up in a couple of minutes.
We made it to 3 college graduations each one bigger than the previous but all filled with tears
but this time tears of joy. This felt otherworldly. I didn’t remember these moments but once they
played, years of memories rushed through me. We reached a section that I didn’t recognize, it
was brand new. But there were 3 people sitting on a stage, they were my children. I almost
missed them, they look nothing like I remember. I remember then being 3 feet tall running
throughout the house chasing me only to squeeze me tight in their group hugs. They were
giving a speech but I couldn’t make out what or where they were. It only cleared up for the final
minute when one of them said “ The last person we want to thank is our mom, although we don’t
know where you are right now we think about you every day. And if you are somehow seeing
this we want to say thank you, you made us who we are today. None of this could have ever
happened without you. You have allowed us to help hundreds of people. Mom, you change the
world”. The screen went dark. I argued with myself when did this happen? The other me got up
to clean everything up. All she said was don’t you remember. My mind was working trying to
remember where I saw this. My eyes widened. I was back in my room filled with nurses, we
watched the TV as the same clip that I just watched played there, everyone stared at me seeing
what I would do or how I would react but nothing I couldn’t move. I returned once again but into
an even smaller room, and this time there was no one else, just me and a large mirror in front of
me. My reflection started to move on its own; it no longer mirrored it did the opposite. It started
talking to me and it was no longer in a gentle voice it exclaimed “ You see, you see. This is who
we are, not the person you have created for the past 20 years.” All I could do was stand there in
shock, realizing that I’ve never noticed what I have done and who I am. It’s harder to know if you
make a difference to anyone. Sometimes you just want to assume you have but it never hits you
harder than when someone tells you. I guess I just always wanted that fairy tale happy ending. I
layed on the floor sobbing and the room around me expanded and a light shined in from all
directions as if the walls around me had been knocked over. The other me appeared again
helping me up and embracing me. She didn’t talk anymore but her smile spoke a thousand
words and they were all thank you. I closed my eyes one more time, and I was back in the same
seat I was before with an empty chair at my side and a room full of people I have yet to meet. I
made my way back to my room on my own strength now, well with some help. The same routine
occurred as I prepared to sleep but this time as I lay in my bed I wasn’t surrounded by
darkness I looked to the ceiling and saw stars, hundreds of bright shining stars and there were no more nights of crying and pondering but of sweet dreams, ones that always had a happy
ending.

Rhetorical Happenings by Timothy Patterson

Flying away with a friend to see a friend.
It happened in a flash we got on and got off the bus
Taking a bus to New York from LA
Didn’t sound too weird, it just happened too fast
Without hesitation were already at his home
Seeing my Friend again for a second
Then he disappears, I didn’t realize
I look outside too see that I’m not in New York
I’m somewhere that should’ve been knocked off years ago
My eyes became tinted with a new style
Making me see things like I was in another dimension
Shading was everywhere, color was still present
It reminded me of Florida, from a comic I was reading
A lady appears with a young girl beside her
This causes a large rectangular hole to form on the wall
Creating a hole to the outside, making it drafty
As sudden as they appeared, they disappeared
Everything is gone
All I see now is a small chihuahua around my leg, once I look up
It can’t see.

Photo Poem by Wyatt Pershing

If dogs could talk they’d say a lot
They’d talk about their day’s
How they smell eleven scents from flowers
Their traumatic event of getting a shower
They wouldn’t leave us alone
Which is for the best
It’d remind us life is for living
while were swimming through waves of stress
They’d call us, and remind us to decompress
If dogs could use the phone
We’d probably be closer to world peace
Lap dogs don’t want to fight
And even the meanest of dogs want to sleep
They’d conspire against us
To get more food and attention
And what gets in the way of that?
War, battle, and existential reflections
Sure it’d be annoying
They wouldn’t leave us alone
But you know what’s also annoying
Your dog not being able to talk
So it just moans

Footsteps Pass by Everyday by Deborah Reyes

My body, as if frozen in time
Can do nothing but watch
As the shadows flit across the ground
Sounds of laughter and conversations full of secrets
Keep me company on days like these
The hope that one day
Someone will discover me is long gone
But I can’t deny the way my heart pounds
When another presence draws near
As I silently call out for them

Throughout the silence
I can hear familiar laughter in the distance
Drifting through the wind and leaves above
The sound brings an ache to my heart
But I cannot fathom a face to match
A bird perched on a branch
It stares with a knowing gaze
But unable to speak,
It only leads me through the woods
With the hope my story will be complete
When I reach the edge

Milky by Tatyana Richaud

Miserable and unwashed, I am their last resort.
She tells him what I’m worth, and what I can be worth
He drags me down as if I am blind and drunken
Curious and domestic , pug-nosed, somnolent white
Taken from my grass home, reduced to simple moos
I am but a transaction for sorry dry beans
Maybe I was traded for a radical change
For the indescribable better, the magic
Of a sinless and hyperactive child
Because I am equal to a beanstalk in the sky
Which reaches high up and makes a boy’s dream come true
One happy day, chewing on lush and wispy grass
Passed out in aquatic and tranquil sleep
I’ll be exactly where I need to be

Home Is Near by Tatyana Richaud

Adrienne watched her family’s overstuffed Samsonite fall from the pits of the baggage claim.
Her husband, Mark, a long and sunburnt man, grabbed the handles and aggressively threw them
to the ground.
“Maman, I need to shower right now,” said 16 year old Claire, tired and greasy from the 12-hour
flight. Adrienne nodded empathetically, but knew the flight was the first of many steps to get to
her family’s small home in the heart of nowhere, hundreds of miles South.
A monotone voice spoke –Bienvenue à Charles de Gaulle, Bienvenue à Paris.
Every time Adrienne returned here, her chest felt heavy, and the line between nostalgic joy and
sickness was blurred. She loved bringing her family here, this was home, but strangely it
sometimes felt like she wasn’t quite sure where that was. Adrienne moved from rural France in
her 20’s to San Francisco, where she wanted to pursue visual art. She met Mark when he stopped
at her gallery exhibit, searching to buy a piece. They flirted, and suddenly things felt simple for
Adrienne. They were married soon after.
After hours of debating with angry cashiers, completely silent car trips, and windy train rides, the
family arrived in Moustier late that night. To Adrienne, Moustier was the heart of France.
Surrounded by mountains, Moustier was a small village with a population of under 800 people.
When she got to her traditional provincial home, Adrienne paused a second before ringing the
bell. Her parents, Chantale and Arthur, opened the door, embraced her, and exclaimed in French.
“Welcome, oh sweetheart. And Claire! How you’ve grown, you’re nearly taller than me.”
Claire laughed and responded joyfully. Adrienne and Claire laughed in the way one does when
they see someone they are supposed to know well. Silence would remind them of the fact that
they don’t.
Mark stood there awkwardly, as he does, and said in a painfully bad French accent.
“We are delighted to be here.” After walking up a steep flight of stairs, Adrienne returned to her room. She recognized the stone
wall too well, the earthy scent of the orange sheets, and markings on the wall from her teenage
years. She recounted the muted sound of the street, the books she bought to read but never
actually did.
Chantale walked in and stood in the doorway.
“So are you happy there?” Her mother never waited too long to ask the big questions.
“Yes, maman, I am. I have my own studio! Things are easier there, you don’t have to worry.”
Said Adrienne, irritated, hoping to have closed this conversation. But her mother continued.
“You can tell me, you know. You can always come home for good. Oh, and tell me, how is it
there, the United States?”
Adrienne sometimes felt as if her mother envied her. Though Adrienne had answered this
question more than she could remember, she still mumbled reassuringly.
“It’s easy there.”
That was a lie.
“It’s home.”
Also a lie.
“Okay,” responded Chantale. “Come upstairs once you’ve unpacked for dinner.”
Mark came into the room, and Adrienne kissed him, as if to reassure herself.
Everytime I come here, I don’t know who I am, she thought to herself.
At dinner, Adrienne translated her parent’s incessant questions for Mark, and also translated his
answers. Tired, she went home to room. It’s always the same thing.
I love it here. Why do I feel like I can’t breathe?
Adrienne had a nightmare. She was trapped, in a liminal space, somewhere between here and
there. She saw her perched blue house in San Francisco, her tall traditional house in Moustier,
but she wasn’t in either of them.

My Shadow by Leroy Simpkins

My shadow lives in a parallel universe. By day, when there is light in our universe,
he follows me, watching my every move and reading my every thoughts. In his universe
he is a mirror image of me, except he lives the life of the perfect being. He does this by
studying my actions and carefully noting the mistakes I make in thoughts and deeds.
Since his universe is parallel to mine, it follows the same laws of physics, time and
space. What hurts a human here, hurts there. Men seek the same things as well, the
love of a woman, financial success and the respect of his fellow man. My shadow
watches me fumble in my quest for these things, and never makes the mistakes I do,
but copies the victories I accomplish. He is a successful thief, and there are no laws
that can define his actions as a crime. His deeds are completely inconspicuous. The
only other person who knows of his actions is the professor who invented the dimension
portal, and he is a mad reclusive soul who no one bothers to spend time with. Being the
immoral being that my shadow is, he couldn’t resist the urge to mock and torment me
with this information, for he knew no one would ever believe me and if they did, what
could be done?? One day, the thought occurred to me to play as dirty as my shadow. I
decided to live in perpetual darkness, a place where he could not enter my universe. As
a result, he could no longer steal or profit from my folly. Frustrated, he had to live his life
learning from his mistakes, which soon proved too much for him. Inexperienced and
untutored, he approached a woman who had an extremely jealous boyfriend who
murdered him, thus ending his existence. A fit ending for such a deplorable figure.

The Photograph by Dennis Taylor

Getting lost in the eyes of the woman I love.
This moment is trapped in time.
My heart thudding in my chest.
Hundreds of eyes watching me.
Those eyes aren’t seeing me.

Tears fill my eyes clouding my vision of heaven.
My lips peel back to reveal my smile.
The moment went by so fast.
But it felt like it was moving so slow.

With realization that this is forever.
I knew things couldn’t have been better.
With two simple words my love changed.
How’d I end up here I have no clue.
Those two words were “I Do”

Rust, Rubber, and Grit by Loic Tedder

With a roaring response to the key’s sparking the ignition, the whirling hurricane of
metal, oils, and pistons conveyed their orchestra of resurrection from the depths of being unused.
Frankie, short for Frankenstein, was a 1994 Chevy Blazer. She had two doors, a roof-top made of
machine-sanded metal due to the rust-blanket she wore before her awakening. Wherever we
went, the rusted-metal creaked using the ancient suspension that kept it above the ground, and
would leave behind marks of establishing her territory like a dog would. Only instead of piss she
used oil on the surface she’d rest on.
At the wheel is where I resided, steering and observing the always-still gauges, and
always having to swat the occasional spider with my bare hand. The most dangerous part of
driving something with rust covering over 60% of it’s surface area, was not the actions I took to
endanger myself, but rather her own will blaze-it.
Ironically blasting 80’s music with my windows down on a sunday afternoon on the I-10
Freeway just this past year, I discovered that Frankie had her own idea to drive and mitigate the
stress the put on my arms keeping the unaligned wheel always straight. She was a kind soul,
truly just wanting to help me get from point A to point B the best she could, even when the
rainfall leaked through her ceiling.
Though, as it turns out, heading exactly 70 miles per hour whilst descending slightly
always made Frankie excited. So excited in fact, that she’d rev the engine by slamming the
accelerator to the floor on her own accord, and in this instance, she didn’t do it just once, twice,
thrice, four, five, but only six total times. My body surged with adrenaline, excited that our speed
surpassed the 80 mile-per-hour limitations the gauge exclaimed, and surely we were leaving
flames behind with our wheels. However, fear and reason quickly followed, and with haste and
controlled determination to survive this rollercoaster, I jammed my foot under the accelerator,
lifting it up every time she wanted to floor-it. The conclusion ended with me winning, and her a
little sour, but she got over it.
After an eternity of adrenaline rushed through my body and the ten-seconds it took for
that event to happen passed by us, allowing me to drive us home safely I can say one, clear fact;
did you know you could get a heart attack at 20 years old.

The Pencil by Loic Tedder

Pencil to paper, like morning to night,
I ask of its lead, bestowing my will,
creating anything with a simple stroke,
lasting comfort in completion,
an extension of our hands, hearts, minds,
letting us do, feel, create,
I use the pencil to help myself,
what do you use it for?
Expression? Obligation? Contemplation?
Hatred? Happiness? Sadness?
Whatever the reason, the pencil guides to the goal.

THE MERMAID’S SECOND SONG by Sabrina Wichener

Crisp blue was the evening Turtle plunged distraught
Seeking refuge within the maiden’s kelp forest
Freed from torment for a fisherman’s kindness
Royal melody called out for his audience
The undulant lady sent her messenger forth
And so she desired the savior of the marine

Dappled light danced across his awe-struck features
Journeyed to her lair in the deep a dragon’s keep
Across the rolling seagrass meadow eyes did meet
One step beyond the threshold his heart was taken
Struck by her liquid embrace they crashed like a wave
His enchanted breath drew from her crest a sweet mist

Dazzled by their eternal spring hearts intertwined
So fine were the tendrils of their lover’s embrace
Sorrow found no place between but bloomed from within
Forgotten origin and duties unfulfilled
His human soul thrust his passion into turmoil
Their dulcet resonance could not quiet the ache

The pearls from her eyes rained down and pooled at her feet
Her marvels could not keep his pure heart from service
A jeweled box laden with time and latent soul
A parting gift entrusted with a kiss and warning
Never venture within to find sealed memories
Lest their crystal love cry out and with him perish

Echoes of those days-like-years sounded with longing
Threads of awareness shattered the gem of her depths
Life’s water left arid as though she too ascended
The lid had been lifted and the years-like-days fell
Fingers of surf reach for him dashed upon the sand
Searching for what remains of her love on the shore

Abandon by Harvey Willing

Mutinied by his crew and abandoned to perish under the blazing heat of
the Mediterranean sun, a merchant captain is left to contemplate the fateful choices that brought
him there as the brutal elements wither away his body and unspool his sanity. (400)
Salty air swept through my nostrils as a gust of summer wind blew in and filled my lungs,
a lonely cloud passing overhead briefly blocked the scorching sun and concealed my seared skin
in shade. Inching across the sky, I tracked the floating cloud with dry eyes as my stiffened arm
laid outstretched over the starboard side of the boat. As the wind picked up, my arm rose and fell
as the boat began to rock back and forth, with each motion of the ocean my wilted fingertips
came closer to the water’s surface. Memories of picking fruit as a boy at the orchard suddenly
raced to the front of my mind, as the brightness of the sun blinded me, I shut my eyelids tightly
yet no tears came to quench them. Those nostalgic thoughts evaporated like a puddle in the sun
as the same dreadful realization crept into my mind again, “You’re going to die soon, and you
have nobody to blame, but yourself.”
Had I possessed the energy, I may have cursed myself or let out a cry of despair, but
instead I laid still with my eyes sealed shut and traced the dots and lines burned into my retina by
the sun. As the boat rocked rhythmically, I mustered whatever life remained inside me and waited to time the right sway, at the perfect moment I thrust my body to the left and plunged my
fingers in the cool water. I drew my hand to my face with a creak, rubbing the moisture over my
bloody cracked lips and across my forehead I let out a deep hopeless sigh. As I felt the cold hand
of death draw near, my mind became scattered. Flashes from the night of the mutiny pierced my
consciousness like a dagger, I could still feel the cold iron against my throat as the salty spray of
the storm smothered my breath. A creeping thought had crossed my mind two days ago. In only
a matter of moments I could be waiting for my family, all I needed to do was slip over the edge,
let out my weary breath, and then drift off to sleep and let the waves do the rest. Holding out
hope like a fool I waited, the thought of returning to her arms kept me warm and gave me
strength, but now the only image I could picture was of her tearfully telling the children their
father would not be coming home.

The Ocean Calls Me by Alexis Causey

The smell of saltwater fills my nostrils
Sand swells under tiny feet
…I’m a kid again?
This all feels familiar
The ocean calls to me
Waves gently wash on shore
I walk along the tide
The ocean calls to me
Sprinting into the sea
Diving
The ocean swallows me
A fade to black
I open my eyes
Where am I?
Drifting
The ocean called me
I am rolling within the waves
The ocean now roars
I am one with the waves
I think this is my last breath

My Love, My Always
by Cindy Chandler

“The good Lord will provide”, you said.
“They made more”, you said.
But not like you!
“I’m an addict”, you said. That part was true.

Promises you made came from your heart.
The one you couldn’t keep – that we’d never part.
You hid it, I saw it, despite the wall.
The love inside – you cared for them all.

You had a bit of everything – a Collector of Collections.
One thing you avoided was inner reflection.
You’d much rather party – so a new party started.
For me, I’m dying; half my soul departed.

We loved. We laughed. We yelled. We cried.
We fought. We taught. At least we tried.
You wouldn’t listen when I’d tell you stuff.
No matter what I said it wasn’t enough.

The level of insight and knowledge I’d share.
I wrote it, I sang it, I screamed it, I cared.
I hoped, against odds, at some point you’d get it.
I didn’t give up. I couldn’t forget it.

When it soaked in, eventually you’d see
Life sometimes improved when you listened to me.
Stubborn, you were, when you held your ground.
I’d wait and pray that you’d come around.

The last time we tried to get you to care.
Your health came first. No choice left. We took the dare.
Adamant, you were, so your addictions, they won.
Nightmares came true, my heart shattered, your life here is done.

I can no longer hold you. Instead, I hurt, and I cry,
I beg to wake from this nightmare so long held inside.
Leo and Ca’mere need me. I thought you did too.
Go on, I must, and start a life that’s new.

I can’t see what a life without you is like.
I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to, Mike!
So, I’ll take what you taught me and try to move on.
Maybe come to terms with the fact that you’re gone.

“The good Lord will provide”, you always said.
So, as night falls, I lie alone in my bed,
The tears fall like rain. I pray for my love
To reach you somehow, in your new home, above.

There’s a huge hole in my life now, it’s true.
Without you in it, I don’t know what to do.
Though I’ll never get to be your wife,
To say, “I do”. You are forever the love of my life,

I will ALWAYS love you!

Recalibrated by Read Davis

There is a new day
A new energy
New thoughts
It is simple
Standard
Forwards
And then the hands behind you creep
through the back of your neck
And the grasp of shadows tighten around your brain
And all the thoughts you’d never have are upon you
And you are without yourself
And yourself is without you
And under absent eyes no thought is your own
I am beyond me
Without myself
Cold
But not the cold
Distant
But not gone
And unwilling to live absent from myself
And though I melt
Evaporate
Freeze in my skull
The heat of me
The rhythm of my soul
Drags
Thoughtlessly
An arm
(The Shadows growing closer now)
Carries
Mournfully
A hand
(They would make a monster of me)
Lifts
Resolute
A finger
(The intruders of foulest kind-)
One warm digit pressing into a frozen mind
Simple against the temple and infinite in the brain
And in the moment
crisp, and bright, and stronger than the collapsing shadow

Beryl by Read Davis

It was her house. The anchor’s house. The one that sat farthest from the city, from the rest of us; that we
all congregated to for the holidays; for an escape from the fast pace of city life. It was my grandmother’s
house. It will always be my grandmother’s house.
As a kid her home was the manor on the top of a hill, vast and mysterious, looking over the
wooded mountains; a world where any adventure could be waiting for you. Under every rock there was a
mystery, behind every fence a quest; where for a whole summer you could wander through the rich, green
gardens, her pride and joy, where in the center stood a mailbox with a name on it, and never get sick of
the rolling hills. As a kid it was where we planted Christmas trees, where deer lingered at the edge of the
forest, where big, slobbering dogs as tall as we were would sit on us in an attempt to keep us safe. It was
where the branches and course gravel gave me my first cuts and bruises, where splinters and I, who are
now old friends, first became acquainted. As a kid it was where you could always find your family, where
your cousin was always around to make up a fantastical story, where your parents felt at ease, where
your grandmother, oh your sweet, sagely grandmother, would draw us you out of our homes to be with
her; where we all loved being with her.
And now I’m older, and that’s still what it means to me, rocks are still hiding mysteries, fences are
still offering quests, and in the center of a dying garden, there’s still a mailbox. It still says “Beryl”
But Beryl doesn’t live there anymore. It’s not where we go every year for Christmas,
Thanksgiving, Easter. It’s not where that sweet, endless old woman, who had lived more than we could
dream, rests her head. It’s where we lost her. Where we knew we were going to lose her. Where I was too
young to understand that a “goodbye” could be forever.
That house, that hill, it’s still ours, but it’s not us who live in it. It’s not her who lives in it. Renters
have leased a new life onto the place, it’s where a new generation of children are growing up- Oh god-
have grown up (has it been that long?).
We know that we’ll get it back someday; no member of the family still drawing breath would argue
that fact, but it’s going to be different. We all know that. Nobody says it. The best I can hope for is that it’s
different good, and that 100 years from now, there’s a green, lush garden. That in its center rests a
mailbox. That, for the forever to come, that mailbox will whisper “Beryl”.

Desolation and Recuperation by Ian Dean

(Photo: Coburn’s Liquor Store – Matt Richardson)

Eyes opening to a calm environment
Fizzing next to me silenced
Cup to my lips
Enjoy the last drop
Am I here?
Set out to preserve
Daughter and wife stowed away
An orange hue reminiscent of Mad Max
A new reality after those blasted bombs
These vile insects
No longer human
Am I?
Faith in my shelter
Fallout left nothing
Find sanctuary
Steel strapped to my side
My boots slide on
Grip this mars-like gravel
Am I ready?
Set out for food
Water
Hell
Anything
Am I to be condemned?
Hands squeezing a tattered door
Enter an old gas station mart
Picking apart at wrappers
Empty chemical bottles
Remnants of old
Am I?
A latch to a cellar
Tugging on the rusted handle
Greasing the mechanism
Open my last refuge of hope
Satisfying clangs bring warmth
Am I saved?
Swiftly turned cold
Twisted limbs grapples the entrance
A daemon twisting its heads
Grip the handle of my sword
Mass of flesh draws closer
Sweaty hands create a sharp point Hold firm as the creature charges
Am I here?

Prometheus, Atlas, and Poseidon by Ian Dean

(Male Lion Leads Lions Pride in Hunting – Zocha K)

His feet strike the pumice-like stones beneath him as the leather tightens around his
chest. A harness wrapped around a jug, wrapped around a man on this humble
mountain path. Fresh from the spring, the water he dutifully carries supplies to the
supple lands beneath including the farm he feeds his family with. Noticing an intense
odor to the left of him, this unnamed man recognizes the scent of death and hastens his
pace as he hears a low growl emanate from the brush. Focusing on the family he has
back home, the man does not tire and does not look back. Eventually drinking from the
supply, he carried, he keeps his eyes forward, remaining vigilant while sticking to the
road. A silo of grain peeking over the last hill was the sigh of relief the man needed,
seeing the warm eyes of his wife and daughter assured him he was home. Adrenaline
had gotten him through the journey but would eventually bring him to his knees as his
spouse noticed an infected nick on his right calf. Finding himself sickly and bedridden,
he is thankful to have brought that precious liquid to his parched land, but at what cost?

Gesture by Chelsea Guerra

You see it, you know it, we do it thousands of times a day
It’s something so natural, so simple.
Mine isn’t pretty, at least not like before.
Why? Because you can see all my teeth.
I look like a monkey with cymbals in its hands and a smile with all its teeth out
When it just comes out I can’t stop it much like waiting at the bus stop because the bus will
come

There’s no button or knob to turn it just naturally placed on my face
I’m starting to think it has its mind of its own
I’m insecure about it but when it happens I don’t care how it looks
When I stare at it in the mirror I criticize it
My eyes all scrunched up I’m barely leaving a sliver of my dark pupil
My cheeks tinted pink because I start to think why am I looking at my smile in the mirror

Drowning by Alexandra Kotelenets

I can feel myself sinking
My mind won’t stop thinking
About the end
Where time won’t bend
And the light will be gone
Until the morning dawn
The cold encompasses me
I can’t breathe
As the water engulfs my mind
But all I can find
Is that I have hit the bottom
Because I’m drowning.

A Story by Alexandra Kotelenets

From that point on, she felt like she found the missing piece of the puzzle. She took a moment
of silence, processing the information and took a deep breath.
“What was he like?” Penny wondered.
Judy let out a little chuckle before taking another drag of the cigarette.
“Your father… he was an extraordinary man. Very… strange I should say. It’s crazy how similar
you are to him. No really! While he didn’t really make like— you know, jewelry, he liked to collect
weird shit. He had an entire box of limited edition post stamps somewhere, though he took it
with him when he left.”
Though this did fascinate her, she had another question. A big uncomfortable one.
“Mama? Uh… do you know why he left?” she said with a shaky voice, clutching her tooth
necklace nervously.
“I don’t know entirely. I think he just didn’t know how to deal with bringing a child into his life.
He… never seemed too interested in raising you. I think he just wanted a fresh start,” she said
bluntly, her eyes welling up with tears before putting the cigarette between her lips again.
Penny was absolutely speechless, only able to nod and nothing more. She looked down at the
necklace and then back up. She had always assumed that it was a nasty divorce, but had no
idea that her own mother never got married. Now, she understood why, especially considering
the stigma of having children out of wedlock. Although she understood completely, it was too
much to handle at once, making her tear up as well.
Giving her mother a hug, she went upstairs to get ready for bed. When she finally got dressed
and did her routine, she found Muffin sleeping peacefully in the center of her bed. Sighing to
herself, she curled up into a fetal position right next to her cat above the covers, then turned off
the lights to sleep.
As she laid, looking up against the ceiling, her mind was not ready to sleep. Penny groaned and
grabbed a pillow from behind her head and shoved it into her face. Her fists curled up into balls.
“Where are you, papa?” she whimpered, while the tears welled up in her eyes and were
absorbed into the pillow. The moment she closed her eyes, she saw a flash of light in the shape
of a man, which startled her into jolting upright in her room. However, all that could be seen was
the place she called her room, and her cat curled up sleeping. She sighed with relief.
Just then, a loud creaking sound could be heard from across the house, so she walked up to the
door to investigate.
“Mama? Is that you?” she called out into the hallway from the door frame.
“Who are you calling mama?” a deep, monotonous voice answered back, but there was no one
else in sight.
With a panic, she fumbled to lock her bedroom door. Then, she frantically went over to grab her
nightstand and proceeded to drag it in front of it in order to barricade the door. Meanwhile, the
commotion left Muffin confused as she scuttled under the bed. As soon as Penny turned
around, she was greeted by the sight of a sickly pale clown, with sharp jagged teeth, and an uncanny smile, slowly inching towards her. Her heart dropped to the floor as she screamed at
the top of her lungs in distress.
Just then, she jerked herself upright, opening her eyes to see that the sun was peeking through
the curtains. “Was it all a dream?” she asked herself, seeing as though her cat seemed to have
slept through the night as well. Penny pinched herself on the forearm just to be extra sure. “I
dreamt that all, right?”

Sky High by Ruben Martinez-Luquin

The textured pavement
My tennis shoes hold down by gravity
I start to run in the middle of the street
It is dark outside
City lights gleaming
I think to myself, what if I can fly ?
I start to leap
To activate the source of all things possible
I leap a little more
The leaps become larger
I start to fly
Wow.

Mi Rosa Perfecta by Christopher Matias

Although they may look the same to you, to me there’s more.
Her stem is strong and tall, holding herself and all that need her
Leaves as green as can be full of life holding on to others in her arms
Thorns sharp and dangerous in order to protect all she loves
Her petals shining in the sun like her smile they light up the world
You may say they all look the same I know
This rose unlike the others
Llena de amor y belleza como nadie más
Beauty all above the others
Mi Rosa Perfecta

Dream Poem by Katrina Mcilroy

I sat there staring outside and Watched the sky, Cozy in my bone white sheets.
The moon changed shape before my eyes, Growing full of warning. Oh the havoc it caused on
me

The clouds coming, going, Cluster, and then break. Rain starts to pour. Washing any marks of
filth away

Singing the words to my favorite song. Smelling the warm tropical storm Sleeping alone. Yes,
I’ve been sleeping alone

Power-lines and oil wells. Fueling my little white lights. Gleaming in the night. I imagine the pink
trumpet flowers start to become heavy with water

Long long roads to drive. Empty roads at 2am
How the wind would feel along my skin. Feeling everything we know well

The dog whimpers and falls back asleep. Recalling things I said. Emasculating and rude. I just
sit here alone

Nowhere to drive. No mind for sleep or rest. Restless in my sheets. At least there’s the rain. The
dog and music and then I wake.

Reality, Oh Reality by Rene Morales

On the inside looking out searching for something to believe
Perspectives ever changing, a place you thought you’d never leave
If what once was the truth, is now something you don’t need
In what direction do you go, when there is no one to lead
As you’ve opened your mind, once blind now you can see
forget what you know, leave it all behind and form a new reality

Out of Place by Aliza Patel

Gilded arches, sapphire pools, ruby silks
The nauseating stench of opulence
Intermingles with scent of sandalwood
Honeyed words and smiles crafted to ruin
Admire my dress, whisper behind my back
A glistening beetle trapped in a web
I cannot be so effortlessly squashed
I am filled with sick sweet poison under
My viridescent exoskeleton
You’re right about me, I do not belong

All for Camille by Aliza Patel

White hot flames consume me. The agony is so unbearable I can hardly scream. It feels as
though someone is slicing off my skin with a dull knife. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. These are the
words that play within my head on repeat.
I awake in darkness, alone. I wonder whose house this is. The furniture is dated and coated in a
thick layer of dust. This all better have been worth it. I move to pick up the chair closest to me
but the slightest touch sends it crashing into the wall. The mirror, I must find a mirror.
I stumble into the bathroom and almost fall to the floor when I see it. I’m not there. It’s what I
was expecting yet it still takes me by shock. The vampirism has taken effect. I am turned.
Finally, this is what I wanted. Power, immortality, it’s all within my reach. I can taste it. Black
spots begin to fill my vision. Why am I dizzy?
I once again awake in darkness, but this time I am not alone.
“Are you okay?” I see a pale face staring above me. Pointed fangs glisten in the moonlight and
the small part within me that remembers what it is to be human recoils.
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I left you alone for a bit after the turning to get you some blood but when I came
back you were on the floor. The blood in your hand started turning blue and it was spreading up
your arm. I wasn’t sure what to do so I drained you which means you need to drink more right
now.”
The vampire, Camille, lifts a goblet to my lips and I take large gulps, savoring the taste as it
slides down my throat. It tastes like iron and power.
***Power, what a silly dream. I am once again convulsing on the floor as Camille drains my blood.
Weak, I am weak. I’ve spent the last 75 years of my immortal life as a shell of what a true
vampire should be. Embarrassing.
Camille and the rest of the vampire coven I belong to are practically my babysitters. It sickens
me. I sicken me. I was a prince once. This was supposed to make me more powerful, not cripple
me. I cannot do much on my own because every couple hours, someone from my coven needs
to drain me. Sickening, weak, powerless.
I can hardly show my face outside my rooms. I don’t like them seeing me this way. Though, it’s
not as if they don’t already know. Maybe I should finally attend a coven meeting today. I’ve spent
three quarters of a century hiding. It could be time I finally show my face.
The coven is gathered around the long dining hall table. I stand in the corner, just here to
observe. I haven’t partook in a meeting since my initial turning. A small, dark haired girl clears
her throat, silencing all the chatter.
“For our first order of business, we need to address the reckless feeding by some of you here.
We don’t want to draw any more suspicion our way.” She throws a pointed look at Camille. “I
vote that we exile those responsible for killing the priests a fortnight ago. It was too blatant and
we can’t trust anyone who could possibly reveal us to outsiders.”
Camille bares her teeth and starts forward. “Now listen here Alice, no one saw us. If you have a
problem with me and the way I do things, say it to my face.”
“I’m glad you said something Camille. I do have a problem with you. Would you like to settle this
outside?” Alice smiles. If Camille doesn’t accept the challenge it will be taken as a sign of
cowardice, however everyone knows the smaller girl is far more powerful.
“No!” I blurt out. I didn’t mean to say anything but Camille was my closest friend here and Alice
would destroy her for sure.
Camille begins to stand while my desperate plea still rings through my ears. I almost feel an
invisible cord between us, and I pull on it, begging her not to accept the challenge.
Camille’s face contorts as if she is fighting something within herself but she slowly sits back
down and shakes her head.
“Coward” Alice laughs. “We will vote on the issue three days from now.”
The rest of the meeting goes by without a hitch yet I sit there reeling. Did I do that? Was I the
one who stopped Camille from fighting Alice? It seems impossible but…. That cord between us
that I yanked on, what could that have been? And if it wasn’t me, why did Camille back down? Why did she seem so reluctant when she shook her head? Camille never backs down. All I
knew was that I had to test whatever this was again.
***
“Alice!” The slender vampire turns around to face me. “Back off Camille. Leave this coven and
never come back.” I try to put the same amount of force into my voice as I did earlier. I feel the
cord again. My blood surges. I get it now. Everyone in this coven has tasted my blood. That’s
what’s letting me do this.
***
“Camille, fetch me another pillow.” She reluctantly walks away, scowling.
It’s unbelievable that I spent so long as a weak, useless husk of a vampire. Here’s to an eternity
of power.

Dream of a Grandson by Delores Rhaburn

In the air I floated, and my grandson appeared and spoke to me
He was mute in the dream
I had a hard time trying to understand what he needed
So, then he floated into the forest and we took a strange path where it
was dark surrounded by trees with carvings and symbols.
We used the symbols as a way for him to communicate his needs.

Being Back Home by Delores Rhaburn

Cold day grueling travel
Tired ready to turn in
Destination reached
Door opens, festive decorations fill the room
Laughter not heard in a year
You sense it
Thanksgiving taking over
The smell of love
Garlic mashed potatoes
Oh there’s dressing
Delightful roasted vegetables calling me
What! Cheese and macaroni…
We don’t do macaroni and cheese
We do cheese oozing all over your face
Yes! Yes! Yes!
The sweet smell of potato souffle
Oooweee
Scrumptious desserts overpowering sweet goodness
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Back home with family thankfully.