The Wilderness | Joshua Nicholson
Rose bushes creep onto my pathand tend to keep me from my way.The forest preys on my dismayand keeps me in its gentle wrath —lost in the Wilderness today. The thorns envelop as a cagequiets the canary’s song.The passing of the days prolongmy dismal stay until old agemust take me listlessly along. An eagle lands…
there were three kids once | Jenna Zaidan
the first was the boythe heirhe escaped his pain through the bottom of a bottlealways slamming the shot glass down too hardfragments going everywherewith a wit as sharp as the edgesbut don’t let anyone ever tell you he wasn’t a geniuspull the string of his curiosity and watch him gohe could tell you anything you…
Untitled | Katherine Saunders
Out there is a dog. I have not met him and I will not. The rough drag of his tongue on my calf: a greeting I can’t feel. But I know where he lives. The locals call it чорнобиль1–the word is entirely inappropriate. No one claims the land now, no one could fight over it.…
My Great Grandmother | Margaret Derby
what i’m telling you is true my great grandmother was an american spy straight from the warfront of world war 2 i heard stories of her beauty (do i look like her?) and her bravery (do i act like her?) but mostly how she’d sit at a table every night and serve dinner to her…
Untitled | Noor Assi
You slipped through my fingersbefore I rememberedto want to hold on. And we have fallen so far backthat we made a circle–six,nine,eleven,thirteen– then a fog blurs your faceand time distorts you. How long does it take for a memory to growso farthat you can no longer see it? People say trees hold memoriesand I stare…
Remainder | Eric Teng
An endless march down the ash-blackened valleyNerves shot with the beat of every drumOne by one, our friends fallBuckling under the weight of this terrible now But soon the dust that blinded us soothed our eyesAnd the rotting stench turned lightly sweetAnd tired feet turned numbAnd stumbling over the dead became commonplace All our bodies,…
A Wednesday, October | Claire Byrd
I cannot do anything else. It follows me home, fluffs my pillow at night. It waits behind me as I put up my hair. I see it behind the toaster. The field. The flattened circle. It is a rat, and a book, and two twin squirrels chasing as I walked towards the terrible news. I…
‘Ode’ to an Orange | Helena Piacenti Rodriguez
you’ve got thick skindifficult to peel offglued to your insidesa wrong moveand a limb is torninto twobut if I’m nicesmooth out the knotson your shouldersyour backlet you knowof a kind handthen you’ll let goshed your layersand show mea tight hugheads bowed in prayerthe big and smalltogether-until they’re notbecause I’ll take awaythe last of your defense-your…
A One Piece Sea Shanty | A One Piece Fan
(Inspired by and sung in the same tune as the French sea shanty, “Santiano” (derived from “Santiana” by the Mexican General Antonio López de Santa Anna) ~ A shanty that the crew sings every time to welcome a new member ~ FrankyCome aboard the Sunny, she’s strong as a beastSetting sail! For the New World!ZoroNine…
Pitseleh | Anonymous
Splayed in my miserable bed, I try vainly to hum you back to life.An amber moon descends the stairs now, echoing that desperate nightUpon cracked concrete where your crooked spin finally came to rest. Your silent suffering sufficed—All old wounds healed at last. And so I take it upon myself to dig through what you…
Trip of a Lifetime | Kiran Koul
Fifty years we waited for our trip of a lifetime.That unbridled excitement in your eyes as we first boardedmellowed into autumnal warmthas the train rocked us into a gentle serenity:reminding me of our days off the Georgia coastwhere the tides receded and retreated,uncovering what mattered in life. Our small island seemed so distant. Periwinkle blue…
Known | Haley Newland
Being seen is a breath of fresh air ona dry summer day. The feeling of openinga door to display a room filled with intricate paintingsand soaring ceilings. The feeling of your first diveinto a pool as the sun rises behind you. The feelingof long pale green grass moving and swayingin a sea as one body.…
Issue 12: Featured Blog Posts
How To: Say Goodbye Zoe Polish Besides St. Clair’s Blue Waters Charlotte Parent Julian Alaina Newell The Highest Form of Hope Jordan Shay Hecker Out NOW!! The wait is over! Issue 12 is available on the website. Click below for more details. “Pie Dessert” by Kelly Ishmael/ CC0 1.0
Recrystallized | Bianca Done
The sculptor tells him it’s out of love. He summons the god the way he always does: an offering, a slab of marble. When the god alights and the sculptor hardly even looks at him—that’s different. “I won’t make you out of bronze,” he says. “Bronze will be reused, sooner or later.” “And marble could…
dépaysement | Janet Wu
These faces I’ve seen before, once on a trip, years ago. Did I hold your hand, should I do it now, dare I succumb toyour wistful hug? Your grip, it tickles my solitudein our proximity. Please forgive my indifference, I do not know what is to be said, forgotto rehearse my lines in the car,…
Final Act | Harper Johnston
snow in the street turnsgrey as it melts, revealingblack tar underneath black tar underneathour imagined puritythe saints we pray to the saints we pray to can’t be listening now or they’re plugging their ears they’re plugging their earsbut sound replays still, a thumpperiod quick end period quick endwhite tarp curtains closing butno audience claps no audience clapsthe…
An uplifting poem, for my mother’s sake | Katie Saunders
I’m going to get around toPlanting all that lupineDying my hair red, elopementI’m getting to it, it’s on the list Keeping you in mindLiving in my own wayLaughing at my own little jokesTo be repeated over the phone I’m gonna get around to writing down everything I rememberAll of it that replays like 70’s film…
1:26 AM | Kiran Koul
/// / The night crackled like flare guns, the darkblue ripped like denimjeans you made me wearbecause my knees were free. You tell me to be freethis one time, grab a Dr. Pepper (your fifth)and tilt your chin to the sky.You say it tastes like happiness, soda’s fizzygiggle on your tongue. Laughter drumming in my…
Van Leyden’s “Adam and Eve Bemoaning the Death of Abel” | Jeanette Wakeford
The universe’s first man Shields his eyes from the aftermath of His eldest son’s darkest hour. Behind the back of his palm, Salt waters sting For though he does not look, He can see the intricate horrors of Abel’s limp corpse in complete Disarray on the ground. Legs twisted, Abdomen bruised, Neck snapped, Face unrecognizable.…
Loon | Alexandra Berryman
One tone, high and silverglides to desperate heavensand wanes into the black, black lake The loon tells his secretslike you do when you, too are lonelyhe coaxes melancholy out of northern air You have spent months in your little boatdoubling back across the same chain of waterwaysattempting to leave the past in a rippling wake…
Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge | Lorenzo Norbis
Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge to neon haze Manhattan 1960’s Dylanesque dreams, with messiah headed songwritersdrunk on free verse and G chords, amphetamine scribbling in the all night cafes, watching times square revolve around itself, spinning till it drops—and us with it. Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge to lights and lights fluorescent offices and lonesome bedroomssky severed,…
Keeping the Ghosts | Haley Newland
The promises are the ghosts lingering long after everything is dead and gone. Dressed like dolls with broken shoes adorning their translucent feet. They dance across creaking floorboards, glimpse between closed blinds, and cry in the overflowing attic. Only their light illuminates the inside of the worn wooden house. Outside rests the gravestones, the newest…
The Beechwood Forest’s 43rd Magically-Enhanced Cooking Competition | Charlotte Parent
Maeve stood behind her assigned counter on the studio stage of the Beechwood Forest’s Forty-Third Magically-Enhanced Cooking Competition, a closed wicker basket on top, and re-tied her gaudy, purple-and-orange apron for the fifth time. In the midst of what seemed like a sea of cameras—more than she ever thought possible to exist in one room—she…
One very Depressing Job Stuff Parenthood Realism Story about Bad Love | Jiayou Shen
Dale went to pick up his no-good son from the correctional facility across town. His son Bill had done his fifth vandalism on university headquarters while a student tour group walked by and then he tried to throw a raccoon at them but failed and the raccoon attacked him instead. While getting attacked, Bill said…
Bury the Ghost | Bianca Done
She tells herself it’s a rain shower. Fingers sinking into the mud, she crawls forward—it’s under her nails, it’s under her skin, under the clothes soaked with icy water. It’s a rain shower, and she’s slipped. Fallen into the dirt. This happens. Something tugs at her throat. And before she can convince herself it’s anything…
The Cracks Between Your Teeth | Kiran Koul
The Harmans were stand up people. They served neck bones with big ladles after Sunday Service and helped the Fosters repaint their home. They smiled and laughed at the grocers and had the most darling, blue-eyed son, Mox. Everyday the Harmans walked their brown lab by the creek and everyday the pastor’s old folk would…
St. John the Baptist: | Lorenzo Norbis
I Mahler whispers to me through symphonies, Telling me to seek deeper into her static gaze– Through telephone Through droning hum Through disgust. When I kneel in prayer, my wayward thoughts gather and disperse. Jesus must have been terribly lonely, An only child. And what expectations His Father had. I heard once that I made…
Creativity, King of Dreams | Augustine Cabello
From the aether, a nebula of objects and ideas began to coalesce, stirring madly in the pot of his brain. Bizarre connections, distorted beliefs, and hidden desires surfaced in this ungoverned vision which now pressed itself into his head, drowning him, and yet awakening him to a reality of imagination, fear, and nonsense. Creativity, that…
Willows and Oaks | Katie Saunders
this time, they sent a good man to kill her a king’s man, gold and russet red she might have laughed, at the indignity yesterday’s soldiers and their presumptions greedy men were easy cowardly men even easier good men were the easiest of all she took the good man into her hearth disposed of his…
We’ll Be Going Soon | Alexandra Berryman
We’ll be going soon, so take care to find your coat on the rack and lose the silver tray you brought in–– please don’t think to close the door, for the worms will find their way in anyhow. Anyhow, the place will be different soon, the paintings fallen off the walls, A taxidermied buck whose…
Mushroom Bingsoo | Jiayou Shen
“Dude, they changed the recipe,” Jay said, mouth having erupted into a tingling numbness upon the first bite of Yep Bakery’s summer exclusive bingsoo, “they’ve added more stuff. My mouth can’t feel anything.” “Isn’t that supposed to be good?” Nai asked, brown bag of the last curry croquettes in his lap. Yep Bakery, a Korean…
Self-Defense | Jeanette Wakeford
(Trigger Warnings: Implications of violence against women, sexual assault, self-defense) If a rose has thorns, What do I have to protect myself? What has God blessed me with In terms of self-defense? Are my nails sharp enough to Slice or Stab? Can they collect genetic evidence? Are my teeth akin to wolf fangs? Ready to…
Childish Games | Haley Newland
i remember jumping on trampolines, laughing until my ribs hurt, eating popsicles that painted our tongues blue, cleaning grass stains off my knees, and falling asleep with the snap of a finger. we said we’d live forever, crossed our hearts and drew plans in the sandbox, the kind only two kids, in the middle of…
To Start the Fall Proper | Clyde Granzeier
In an old fortress barrack Gather up all the ghost stories You can fit into copper wires And clapping hands And serpents and lizards Carried in silk That can’t steady your eyes Darting from, dashing from The newest monsters Made of candles, wax dripping Book pages moving in the Breeze through the cloth Stitching of…
Persistence Poem | Dustin Masker
And on the first day, I finally got some food. I woke up early to that white sky. I showered; I flossed a little, just like How they say, and just like how they say, It felt good to be doing it all of that, I mean: The small things, as well as the big…
Michael | Alexander Voorhees
We recently reviewed submissions for our winter 2023 journal — there were far too many stellar submissions and wanted to highlight a couple of these submissions on the blog. Before reading, here’s an excerpt from the author, Alexander: I’m a first-year Philosophy and Biology Health and Society major with a heavy interest in creative writing. …
Peace | Haley Newland
there was peace when we sat overlooking the sunrise magnificent hues spread across the sky from yellow to orange to pink the dawning of a new age, some say an age where we could finally rest an age where I could learn to trust finally, an age of peace And I was foolish enough to…
“Overcast” | Andrew Smedley
It may start with a breeze It may come from a blizzard From a cold rage wrought by a freeze Or a wind that drifts only a feather The earth conveys their emotions through weather. Hurricanes, tornadoes, typhoons coalesce Often thought disasters, but natural nonetheless A light rain on Valentine’s Day A curious snow One…
Magic Trick | Dustin Masker
And To the king, The knight and the squire, Recounting their journey Of indomitable beasts felled Through a conflagration Of ancient evils; Beautiful magic ineffable. And just beyond those throne doors And the court jester stared so, At the omniscient magician Holding out one supinated hand Balled into a fist, as though She was about…
Getting lost | Krystal Koski
The wheel is always moving, its melodic heaving of rushing water is always thumping in the back of our minds. We like to imagine it is meaningless, yet we fear it’s progression so much that we never speak of it. When the crows shriek I am cradled and time stops. I am no longer at…
Tick Tock | Dahika Ahmed
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Amara’s eyes were closed as she listened to the ever constant sound of the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. She felt herself twiddling her fingers against the light wooden table. She breathed in as she felt the light rays of the sun come across her face. The sensation made her recall…
The Last Day of November | Grace Hovda
please excuse my absence on the last day of november i’m not sick, not on the road, not out of town just out of time: my allowance of grief is spent i’ve once again met the day my father died the day i woke up by his side for the last time time passed in…
The Leaves Change Color | Haley Newland
the long days grew to long nights summer sun turned to autumn wind worn out t-shirts became well loved sweaters time passes by and the leaves change color our childhood grew to adulthood promises turned to forgotten dreams our moments together became distant memories we stand by while the leaves change color see you soon…
Familiar | Andrew Smedley
There’s a knock on the door. The man raises his head in suspicion, rubbing the drowsiness out of his eyes. “Odd,” he mumbles to himself, “awfully late for anyone I know.” He shuffles over to the front of the apartment and peers through the spyhole, intent on catching the thief stealing his time, but is…
Does light carry images? | Dani Cruciani
I invented the James Webb telescope, so you can imagine my surprise when I learned that NASA built it without me. It’s true! In seventh grade I finally realized what lightyears were. And I asked Mr. Raubb, if I could figure out a way to travel 65 million lightyears away, if I could figure out…
Mountain Pass | Dustin Masker
At the top the trees were like grass, and all things felled were imperceptible. The first step took a lifetime to take, the rest were just like the first, only they were unknowably better every time I picked up my foot, and that, of course, I still have yet to know. At the top of…
At Summer’s Crest | Amber Hashmi
at summer’s crest the sun beats down on its treasury: the flowers in zeal and the flesh of fruit that dazes and numbs you of all but satisfaction. at summer’s crest i like you best When i reach for you in my memory: your smiles are real and there are no awkward places in speech…
How to grow out your hair, and then cut it all of yourself | Lauren Reitzel
How To Play the Victim How to grow out your hair, and then cut it all of yourself
Her summer in Africa | Krystal Koski
There’s an effortless beauty that surrounds those that sleep; when their face muscles relax and they have no concern for their outward appearance. I wonder if I’m beautiful when I’m sleeping – I wonder if they look at me and admire my face. My lips, naturally parted, are an allure to some. Once, I saw…
Fawning for Flora | Madi Altman
My human form has not felt quite right lately; a floral form feels a better fit. I stare at my mother’s garden, aching to be a blooming begonia. I want to grow again from nothing, the possibilities of what I could be and the genotypes that could blend, so I could finally feel beautiful. Bees…
You Paint Your Nails Purple | Amber Hashmi
You paint your nails purple, Purple like the walls of your childhood bedroom, Your childhood bedroom where you and your neighborhood friends spent hours playing with dolls, crafting elaborate storylines and character arcs, The same character arcs from your games of House– Games of House you played after blowing bubbles in the yard, Bubbles in…
All In | Andrew Smedley
It’s a seven of diamonds on the turn and I freeze my movements. The chip leader glances my way and quizzes the behavior. Stunting my breath, I match his gaze and my eyes immediately dart away, back toward the two diamonds and two hearts sitting on the table. The left corner of his lips curl…
143 | Madi Altman
I didn’t expect it to be this hard moving on. I never noticed how intertwined our lives have been since August. Walking home alone at 1:30am, not having anyone to call besides you, but knowing I can’t call you broke me. I knew you’d answer if I called, we are still “friends”, but I had…
Almost Home | Amber Hashmi
Watching the subtle oscillations of the headlights in the rearview mirror as the cars weave through the hilly, pothole-ridden roads behind you; sun sinking below the horizon, bathing the snowbanks honey-orange striated with the long, purple shadows of the trees at the edge of the street. You glance to the side and see the bright…
A New Kind of Intoxication | Madi Altman
Kissing you is intoxicating. I could get drunk off of your lips. You taste like an Old Fashioned: sweet like brown sugar, sharp like bitters, smooth like bourbon. You’re numbing in the best way, calming my nerves and thoughts while also lighting up every inch of my body. The second your lips are on mine,…
The Weather Outside My Window | Kristen Boudreau
I can’t see the weather outside my window right now because the blinds are closed, which they always are. My mom always, well, mostly always had the blinds closed when I was younger. She was oddly paranoid that our neighbors would spy on us and watch us inside our house if the blinds were kept…
In the Room | Krystal Koski
On the windowsill, tickled by winter air that sneaks through the loose panes of old glass stands the ceramic mug and the half-filled wine glass. The two are engaged in a forbidden love affair, shunned by the containers of the kitchen. They hide away on the sill strewn with ash to whisper about the life…
A Piece of Cloth on a Clothing Pin | Nikki Rossiter
The two of us were sitting at a coffee shop, one we had visited years ago when we were together. I twiddled my thumbs and made small talk, grinning at stories they told me of their journeys. They had become a prolific traveler, they found their calling making documentaries and I couldn’t have been more…
Three Figments of My Subconscious Try to Help Me with My Homework | Kevin Sang
I sit at my table in the atrium, surrounded by students doing homework, just like me, the rustle of their voices dancing through the air around us. Another hard problem, I think to myself and the small child sitting with me nods in agreement. A very hard problem indeed, he says, stroking the river of…
Scattered Thoughts | Andrew Smedley
The days grow colder once again It seems time never forgets its merciless routine All that’s happened since time before Was it worth it? I wish it could be Now I sit still Unsure if waiting or wasting Not convinced of where I want Yet despite my own uncertainty Time never hesitates The autumn air…
Some Days | Amber Hashmi
Some days just feel like existence is kept in permanent limbo. Like the time lingering between when the leaves have fallen but the first snow has yet to arrive. Everything is just brown and gray and wet. The cold bites your cheeks but you don’t feel it. The sun rises and sets but you don’t…
Oh For the Love of Sight | Julia Meguid
Looking around and seeing the vivid colors of all different types of flowers that blossom. Vision. Seeing and recognizing the faces of loved ones or those of scornful enemies. Sight. Identifying letters and numbers that exist all around and make the foundation of society. Perception. All of these things would not be possible without the…
Drowning | Krystal Koski
I am enveloped by a comforter as I lay myself to rest. As I turn to my side, my mass slosh to one side like liquid, leaving part of me empty and vulnerable. I am chained to the Earth by the weight of my fluid insides, I cannot move. The empty portion of myself is…
“Friendship” | Madi Altman
She watches him deteriorate through the screen of her phone, his words tearing himself down because he believes he isn’t worth anything. He constantly repeats his signature phrase, “If I die, I die,” and her worry exponentially grows as his use of the phrase becomes more aggressive. She tries with all of her might to…
Me and My Buddy, Ed | Madi Altman
I have a good friend named Ed. Now, Ed isn’t always the nicest person, but he simply wants what’s best for me. He loves to point out when I am overeating or eating something he deems to be insanely caloric and high in sugar. I’m just looking out for you. He reminds me of the…
I’m Still Triggered Because I’m Still Sick | Anna DeLuca
I worry about my health every day. It’s a foreign concept to me to not be constantly caring for your body. Although I fight it, I have a close relationship with my body because of my illness that other people might not be able to understand or relate to. Being aware of your mortality on…
20 | Sophia Schwartz
I lay down on a grassy hill Flip over onto my stomach And thrust my fingers into the soil They sink in until my hands and my arms And my whole body dives into the earth Under the ground Now I am here in darkness I step through a doorway And find myself inside the…
Last Normal Day Series | Anonymous
My last normal day was March 12th, 2020; it was a marred matrix of fear, fake love, and roleplay (not like that, gross), a day I can recollect without hesitation. Although normal in the context of CDC guidelines, its abnormality came from life’s seemingly sadistic motives for my fate. This work will remain anonymous, not…
I BUILT A HOUSE | Dani Fink
CONSTRUCTION Walking into the framework of the new house, I avoided the patches of white powder that created clouds of dust on my feet when I walked through them. As we went into the foyer and stood beneath the chandelier that had been hung just the day before, I could see the sheer excitement on…
Imposter Syndrome | Anonymous
cout << ‘Hello, world!’ is the first program you learn to code during a weeklong coding boot camp for girls before your first semester of freshman year. It’s the one universal initiation for all new computer scientists, and it’s the simplest program in the books: it’s just a print statement to standard output. The statement…
We Are Really Strangers | Madi Altman
The following poem is inspired by the game We’re Not Really Strangers, a card game dedicated to bringing people closer by asking deeper questions. I asked some of my closest friends and family members to answer three questions anonymously, in hopes of showing that we don’t know what goes on in people’s minds, even those…
On Running | Jackie Kim
Do you remember how we met all those years later? We had never been on the best of terms. You’d be the bain of my playground clout, my position in the running pack translating directly to my popularity in the 5th grade food chain. Ah well, I wore it like a second skin. I wore…
End of Winter | Rachel McKimmy
Can’t remember the first time you felt Scared of being alone. This feeling has always been with you, An ice that won’t ever melt. Scared of being alone, But what if there’s solace in silence, peace: A knowledge that it is from this we are born, And that this is where we go when all…
Golden Week | Rachel McKimmy-Warf
Editor’s note: an excerpt of this piece was published in our Fall 2020 Issue. NOW The car ride up the winding mountain road was sickening. Mei grimaced out the windshield at the passing pine trees, almost grateful for the car-sickness, as it distracted her at least partially from her memories. A sigh slipped out of…
Haikus | Alicia Haun
Haikus about haikus: Counting syllables, Feeling the words flow through the Tips of my fingers *** Question for haikus: Are titles cheating? Extra Syllables for free? *** How much can you say in seventeen syllables? I guess we’ll find out. *** Other: Taking his approach: Learning to be kind even When I am hurting. ***…
The Color Yellow | Kristen Boudreau
Cover art by Jackie Kim My grandma loves the color yellow. She has a big yellow house. And, in that big yellow house, there is more yellow. Her kitchen is yellow. Her walls, her placemats, her seat cushions, her dishes, and her dish towels are all yellow. There are three bedrooms in her big yellow…
To Whom | Taylor Schott
Cover art by Taylor Schott To Whom It Definitely Concerns, Stop that. Why do you do that? Why must you do that, do it all the timewithout cease and without mercy? How are you like this, what made you this way?Sometimes I sit here and wonder why and how but then it’s no use, no…
Last Normal Day Series | Krystal Koski
Part of our “Last Normal Day” series, a piece by Krystal Koski with cover-art by Jackie Kim.
Last Normal Day Series | Dani Fink
I returned to Ann Arbor from Spring Break with a bruised heart and hanging hopes for the rest of the semester. My Monday morning 8:30 am class proved to be a more demanding challenge than usual, as my tan was still settling into my skin. That day, I walked to and from my classes for…
Last Normal Day Series – Aria Gerson
The weekend I returned to Ann Arbor from spring break, I switched my editing shift for the week with a coworker. If life had gone on as normal, I probably wouldn’t have remembered that; in over two years working as a sports editor at the Michigan Daily, I had switched my shift who knows how…
Black Lives Matter
Black lives matter. As a literary journal, we firmly believe that words hold power. However, the past few weeks have made it as clear as ever that words alone are not enough. Standing in solidarity and support of the Black community requires sustained, on-going action –– simply being not racist is insufficient and the only…
Writer To Writer Literary Journal 