Spring 2019

Thank You

This issue would not have been possible without the support of our alumni. Thank you so much to everyone who donated so that we could create a print issue for Spring 2019! Ms. Madeline Charlotte Amos Mr. Brian D. Bouldrey Dr. Carolynn Burbee Mrs. Abby Dan Ms. Nicole Elise Fallert Ms. Julie Fay Mr. Simon… Read More Thank You

Half Asleep

I dreamt of you not So long ago, betrayed by My own subconscious. I read somewhere that Dreams are other people’s thoughts. Put me from your mind. Research suggests it’s My own hopes and memories. I thought I’d moved on. I don’t want you now. I’d much prefer my future. How do I let go?… Read More Half Asleep

Orchid Resurrected

Do you remember that book on Georgia O’Keeffe? The one that sat on top of the table in the little cabin tucked away, christened with lake spray and musty wood. You said                                                         “I really want to kiss you right now,” a gust of wind pushed through your chest that made the white curtains heave. You… Read More Orchid Resurrected

A good man gardens

mother says, stabbing starry holes opposite the sky. I’ve crushed her lavender spray, poured dirt before the body has been lain. Pretend it’s potpourri, I offer instead of an apology, grated flower flesh, salts for the fainted soul, if nothing else. She is mother – Atlas – at fifteen: what is family but the world?… Read More A good man gardens


Driving Home

The high school runs parallel to the road like the police station, Which runs parallel to where your cousin ended up after he was accused of manslaughter. On curve of the road after that prison, you almost hit a motorcyclist (whose rims and glasses and helmet gleamed like your father’s). Heading to the adobe home… Read More Driving Home


The residents of Grand Island, NE witness very little growth in a lifetime. Every summer, middle school students trudge through miles of corn rows, their gloved hands uprooting the tassels, mud caked up to their knees. In the fall, families drive their minivans to the farmer’s market to purchase a plastic bag of corn to… Read More Goodnight


We watch our grandmother unfurl from the bed: a fragile bird with heavy wings. Summer seeps through the open window of the apartment, a birdcage, her home for fifty years. A dull grey building with steps too foreboding and an elevator pine paneled like a coffin. Pogácsa from the subway station popped into our mouths… Read More Birdcage

Celestial Body

Elegy for My Grandfather’s House in Cabin John, Maryland

Take care. Remember what you were and who You held inside your walls. The gentle breath Of smoke released from dark, cast iron stoves, And patinated wooden floors, impressed By years of footsteps—these I will recall. Or how the stones and twisted branches that We found stood proud upon the porch, the way The center… Read More Elegy for My Grandfather’s House in Cabin John, Maryland