Until You Have Walked through the Markets by Veda Nandikam (April)

UNTIL YOU HAVE

WALKED THROUGH THE

MARKETS

Veda Nandikam

Until you have walked through the markets, where the pervading scent of jasmine blossoms and cloyingly sweet mangoes fills every corner, sleepy dogs lie in the shade, and vendor’s stalls clutter the streets; until you have ridden an autorickshaw through pounding rain and flooding streets, a chilling night breeze replacing the humidity of the afternoon; until you have slept on a dabba under the twinkling stars, and lulled yourself to sleep with the cacophony of guava leaves and crickets; until your early October days are filled with the tolls of temple bells and sparkling silver anklets, and winding pieces of art are on the hands of every woman; until you have drank freshly made sugar cane juice or eaten pani puri straight from the cart, you have not stepped foot in my hometown.

I’m Scared of the Dark by Eva Hymes (April)

I’m Scared of the Dark

Eva hymes

Undone by little except lunar stares and starlight

To keep within ground; both rooted and known

Unconcerned with darkness, try as it might

But never to falter, since light isn’t shone

We keep our sights on paths paved smooth

And ignore wisps pungent of our own fabrications

Peddling one foot in front of the other; to move

Wiping peripherals of all abnormal sensations

The deep complications followed by connection

Add spots of unknown darkness to what’s in light’s expanse

To find oneself stumbling in face of angelic affection

Proves that falling to black is good, not just by chance

Selene by Shay Mahoney / Untitled by Juha Lee (April)

untitled / juha lee

Selene 

Shay Mahoney

They say the moon is beautiful.

It is, you suppose. There’s a beauty to a tiger’s jagged stripes, the fluidity of a striking viper. There’s beauty in danger- or the idea of it.

The Moon is beautiful- in the way bloody, brutal things are.

But bloody, brutal things are cruel. They do not think or feel in the way their prey does. They love, but their love is simple survival- a cunning dance that ensures more carnage. They do not get lonely. They do not know lonely.

The Moon is lonely.

You know. You have always known. You’ve seen her, slipping through trees, silver skin kissing the ground soft as anything, and you can forget, almost. You can forget.

But the Moon will not.

The Moon has lived here, in the tides that crushed bone, in the wolves that ate of her light. The Moon will always live here, always remember.

And she will outlive us all.

The Beach by Kara Margin (April)

THe Beach

Kara Martin

I am always reminded of the gritty but soft sand every time I think about going to the beach. It’s just me and my brother left to play, but we enjoy every moment of playing in the sand, being in the water, and listening to country music playing over my dad’s Dewalt speaker. My brother and I are particularly drawn to the sand, whether that be eating sand sandwiches, throwing sand, digging holes, or building sand castles. Every time I think of going to the beach, I think of building these ultimate sand castles with my brother, Gavin. I wondered what had happened to our castles when we came back the next day and they were gone, and realized the only way could’ve been the waves. However this didn’t make sense, I thought to myself:

“Why does the ocean wash away our castles?”

Through It All by Sienna Dunham / Untitled by Shruti Kunadia (April)

untitled / shruti kunadia

excerpt from

Through it All

Sienna Dunham

Quite simply, Olive embodies light. She’s the type of girl that makes your heart warm the second she walks into the room. This light, this love, blesses every single piece of her artwork. I couldn’t help but hang them in my office, they served as a constant reminder that life was magnificent. Even if I didn’t get enough sleep, or even if I had the worse day at work, Olive just had that special ability of making me feel alive. Even if I fought with my wife that day, or even if I struggled to get out of bed, Olive could always make me feel better. Even after death, I feel a rush of life, just because of what my darling little girl means to me. 

People are born and die every day. Time on earth is limited the second you are born. But, art lives forever. Art allows people to live forever. 

On Saturday, Olive lays on my office floor, just like we used to do together. She blasts Taylor Swift’s new album, Speak Now, and her beautiful mother sits in my office chair watching our daughter paint. Her brush strokes are rapid, so sure of themselves. So ready to show what they can make come alive. 

She’s wearing her favorite paint clothes: a bright yellow, extra large t-shirt and paint-stained leggings with neon pandas all over them. She’s never been good about keeping herself clean while painting. 

“But dad, I’m just making myself part of the painting. Why should the artwork be constricted by the borders of these little canvases?” she would say to me. 

“You’re just a slob, honey. It has nothing to do with you wanting to break out of whatever confinements your paintings are being subjected to, or whatever you want to say,” I would always tease back. She had recently discovered Banksy and his unconditional way of painting wherever and however he wanted and constantly gushed about him. Something about the idea of complete liberty made her ecstatic, encouraging her to expand her ideas on what art really is. 

Paint covers Olive’s nose, a sight that her mother laughs at. Olive smiles back but doesn’t stop painting, not even for a millisecond. Slowly but surely a face appears on her canvas. 

A face that belongs to me. 

She hangs the painting on the wall, in the one spot that she’s left bare all these years. A spot she’s been waiting for something special, something magnificent to place there. 

Her mother, my strong wife, smiles with tears of joy running down her face. “It’s perfect, he’ll love it.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. You were right to wait and hang something there. Nothing better could have taken that spot.” 

And with that, Olive has brought me back to live on the wall in this room: forever watching her create life with her brush. 

Walk in My Shoes by Tsegaab Wubshet / Untitled by Henry Tetteh (Black History Month)

Untitled / henry tetteh

Walk in my shoes

Tsegaab Wubshet

I’ve walked thousands of miles in these shoes
Weak, wet, cold
My feet have bled from the torn sole as the hard ground punctures my heel
I’ve walked through deserts and mountains
Through the rain and the snow
I took my bruises, took my lumps
Fell down and I got right back up
I want to see you try it
Put it on see if it fits
Maybe walk a foot or two
I want to see how long it will take
Until you collapse on the weight of these shoes
You see
These shoes aren’t meant to be easy
To be comfortable
They are meant only for those who can stand to be hurt
To be cut and bruised
For feet that are willing to get cold and wet
Tired
Let’s see if you can walk in my shoes
As I have walked in them my whole life

Emulation of Langston Hughes’ “Mother to Son” in celebration of Poetry Out Loud.

What Is Strength? by Gaige DeLair

What is strength?

gaige delair

What is strength?
Strength is never giving up, never backing down.
Strength is also knowing when you’re wrong,
And acknowledging your mistake.
Strength is standing up to the powerful.
Helping the less powerful get back up.
Strength is standing up for what is right,
Not what you want.
Strength is something we all possess,
Something we all have in us.
But we need courage to bring out true strength,
Only then can we stand tall together.
Strength is not something we can measure,
Nor is it something always rewarded.
But when you use strength to help others
They will remember you.
So whenever you have the courage,
The courage to use your inner strength,
Do it and help people who need it,
And maybe someday they will repay the favor.
Strength is something we all have, so use it.

New Beginnings by Sabrina Pervaiz / Target by Henry Tetteh (Black History Month)

Target / henry tetteh

New beginnings

sabrina pervaiz

When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never ending shade?
With the burden of the never ending turmoil, we must unite and put our differences aside as we walk into the valley of the future.
When we unite we can overcome any obstacle.
We have learned from past failures and successes.
We are adapting to the unknown.
The past hasn’t been perfect.
The mistakes have been made.
We the new generation of this melting pot have fulfilled a vision of our forefather, Martin Luther King Jr., where the ethnic immigrant’s daughter can dream of endless opportunities and overcome previous injustices.
And yes, there is still work to be done, but we are striving for the best.
We’re not perfect, but everyone in this world has a part to aspire to equality.
Aspire to a nation with fairness and humanity.
United we stand divided we fall, so let’s rise up and do our part.
Let’s put our differences aside and make a better example of ourselves.
It wouldn’t hurt to be a part of this journey.
Have pity for others as you would want others to have for you.
Grieve for others as you would do for your friends and family.
Hope for others in hurtful times as you would for your child.
Do it because it is the right thing to do, not because you’re being asked to do it.
Do it because what comes around goes around.
Do it for the inevitable higher power that you will one day ask for forgiveness from.
Let’s spare no effort to be open minded for the sake of our future.
Let’s create the new pathway to be on the right side of future history.
This path will bring a promising future for years to come.
If the example is to learn from your mistake, dare yourself to change as America has no place for old broken ways.
We have seen forces that would shelter our nation rather than change it.
We have seen the aftermath of divided battle and no one came ahead.
Instead there were lingering feelings of bottled up bitterness, resentment, and hatred.
The divided events were in history books for future generations to learn from, not to be repeated.
This country may now be hurting, but if we each put effort into fixing the damages left from the past, we may slowly see the light for the first time.

Our people diverse and beautiful by Nia Browning / Untitled by Matt Kablan (Black History Month)

untitled/Matt Kablan

Our people Diverse and beautiful

nia browning

Our people diverse and beautiful
Will emerge battered and beautiful
So many thoughts and ideas put together
Because as one, we’re so powerful

I want my kids to know that they can do anything
My future daughter can run around with her hair free
She can put on her rain boots and stomp in the biggest puddles
Laughing and dancing for the world to see

I want my son to dance with her
To know that he has my full support and trust
So that he knows he can tell me anything
And I would never look at him with disgust

My children will be whoever they want
Although I would want to keep them in a bubble
They will need to understand the ways of the world
And learn how to be humble
As much as I’d want to keep my children sheltered
From suffering hurt and pain
I won’t be able to protect them from everything
The prettiest rainbows always start with some rain

12:13 A.M. by Alyssa Turcotte / Untitled by Della Wirfel (April)

untitled / della wirfel

12:13 A.M.

Alyssa Turcotte

I settle into bed, but I can tell
from the thunder booming outside
that I won’t soon sleep.

A warm yellow glow
filters through my window,
the bright midnight light
creating slats on the floor that illuminate
the papers strewn across my desk.

I’m in the eye of the hurricane,
enjoying the moment of calm before the storm.

In the distance, I can make out
the rumble of trucks
thundering down the street,
endlessly sweeping its predecessor’s mess.
I hear it shudder and crawl
closer until its growl is almost unbearable,
the storm just outside my window.

Suddenly,
the harsh metallic clang of lightning
striking the ground pierces the night,
ripping away the peace I had known
just a moment ago.

But then I hear it fade. I’m left with only
my yellow sky,
always one moment away
from another wave of the storm.