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…
A Marshmallow Emergency | Talia Belowich
Sparks of coal Shoot from the fire pit, sputtering and spraying The faces of those who sit too close. I dip my marshmallow into the flames, And let my fingers become submerged, stung with white-hot ash As I lay the newly-golden puff onto a cracker, letting its sticky contents ooze out And coat my hands. …
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…
Little Ducklings | Danielle Fink
My box fan had unplugged in the middle of the night, so I woke up to beads of sweat rolling into my eyes.
Tapping Towards My Future | Sydney Moore
Picture a room filled with middle-aged people whose heads are bent towards large computer screens. Their separate office doors are cracked open and illuminated by stark LED light bulbs. Tap, tap, tap, is the only sound that fills the void between them, besides the low murmur of the vents pumping recycled air back through the…
Rooted | Priscila Flores
Rooted Humans must require more protection thanlayers of skin.There’s something,something inside,squirming its way from the depths of myabdomen to the exit my mouth provides.I wonder,could even armors of iron have been enoughto prevent this? Do we ever know what to expect? In hindsight, I see much clearer.I drive backward,nervously staring through rearview mirrorsin search of…
Where is Ebru? | Aylin Gunal
There was a conversation with cats, that’s what he’s sure of. The salt-and-pepper ringleader with one blue eye and the rest of her crew prowled up and down the stone wall. They always seemed to be there. “Please let us past,” Ebru begged. “We need mulberries to put into the batter before the pies burn!”…
Podcast Discomfort | Briana Johnson
What’s it like making a podcast about love and sex? Well, not as disturbing as all the stories you’ve heard on the internet might make it out to be. Most people like to shy away from topics like sex because they’re private. They’re uncomfortable. They’re taboo. Fleeting came out of the idea that not a…
Death During College | Briana Johnson
Last week, my Aunt died. She’d been sick for a few weeks, she’d suffered a stroke some time before, and ended up passing away in her sleep. I still try to say it out loud, but every time I try to say it, like really say it out loud, something feels wrong in my brain.…
Letters to Autumn: The Forest | Evan Dempsey
“Dear Autumn,” reads the letter on the desk. Like most of its author’s thoughts, it is unfinished. Whether it is addressed to a girl of that name, or the season slowly mixing its livid palette into the leaves of the trees outside, it cannot be determined. The letter’s creator, our beleaguered hero, is at the…
Bow to the Blood Bitches | Vennela Vellanki
Behind the Writing “I write when my emotions feel so intense that there’s no other way to properly express them besides with words on a paper. The inspiration for this piece was a journal entry I wrote at some point last year when I was so frustrated and angry and upset that I just needed…
10 Year Anniversary of my Period | Anonymous
The first time I got my period, I was ten or eleven, and it was the start of summer. All I had wanted to do was use the bathroom and go back to biking outside, but instead I caught sight of a little patch of blood on my underwear for the first time. I stared.…
MiW Capstone: A Reflection | Lauren Weiss
As I come to the conclusion of my capstone course, I am drawn into a state of reflection–how has this course influenced my writing? What kind of a writer am I now that I’ve completed the minor? The way I’ve decided to come at this question is through an analysis of the general stages of…
My Storytelling Narrative | Serena Pergola
Behind the Writing “The inspiration behind this piece is unwavering passion and intense perseverance to pursue sound mental health and ignite further domestic violence and sexual assault awareness.”
The Ides of | Annie Ning
If you are reading this right now, then it must mean that I have died. If I have not yet met my inevitable fate at this point in time, then it must be because someone has taken and published my intellectual property without my explicit permission, and so I’d kindly like to ask you, if…
Men and Lions | Henry Milek
The Ancient Greeks’ idea of war was based around honor and respect, values that objectively seem strange, as the nature of war itself is one of savage violence and tragedy. The latter ideas have taken more prominence as time goes on, but even the Greeks had to realize that the idealized image of warfare created…
The Tragicomedy of Translation | James Jae Heon Lee
Bertrand Russell claims, “No one can understand the word ‘cheese’ unless he has a nonlinguistic acquaintance with cheese” (Jakobson, 113). In other words, language cannot be employed to properly communicate a certain concept unless one’s understanding of the concept had been established independently of and prior to language. In his short story La Busca de…
Sad, Sentient Robots | Caitlyn Zawideh
Super Bowl LIII ads featured mermaids, Zoe Kravitz doing AMSR, and a Bud Light/ Game of Thrones crossover, but one theme appeared more than any other: technology, not only as a product, but as a cultural presence. Michelob Ultra, SimpliSafe, and Mercedes-Benz among others chose to put technology at the center of their ads with…
206 Beats Per Minute | Sarah Salman
There were two round spots, bright like carrots, adorned on each cheek. Atop its head, the bird’s pale-yellow hair was slicked back into a Mohawk. It fluttered nervously in its cage. Its name was Pikachu. “What do you think?” the mother asked, crouching to make her eyes level with the little girl’s. The girl smiled,…
November 28th, 2018 | Brooks Eisenbise
In the early morning hours of November 28th, 2018, my grandfather died. He died on the day before my grandmother’s birthday. My mother had called me three days prior with the news that he wasn’t able to swallow anymore, that he would likely die quickly of malnourishment. A muscle reflex leftover from a stroke he…
A Chat with MiW Alumni | Nia Vrana on Jake Lourim
The Sweetland Minor in Writing is many things. It is comprehensive in it’s coverage of many writing topics and modalities. It is an opportunity for growth outside of one’s Major. It is a chance to embrace and improve one’s creativity and imagination. Most importantly, when compared to many University of Michigan programs, the Sweetland Minor…
姥姥 | Samantha Lu
She’d starved for weeks before her heart sighed for the last time. The tumors in her intestines meant that she could no longer digest her food properly, and, in her delirium, she’d tried to bribe nurses to buy her just a few, juicy pork dumplings from the restaurant that squatted in the alleyway next to…
MINE | Pando Girard
I name this whole body mine everywhere I take it Standing in the kitchen before dinner My dad gives me a talk about Wearing my pik in my hair Slicing through block of high-top Spikes and power Says my pik comes with a certain perception I should be wary of The word black doesn’t leave…
He Is Dead | Translation of Klink Hratzvenga by Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven; from Pando Girard
The echo is a blender crunching Toll the breaking Snapping Crumbling Of the body Rumbling of the boy Crumbs Wandering Murder Marred uttering dark Stuttering and stolen breath Fluently from a still-beating corpse Murder — my history is a prolonged breaking What has been ground to slivers My son — dust My blood and soul!…
The Truck Trailer’s Tire | Henry Milek
I was frustrated for the first part of the drive. I’d missed the turn onto Depot Street and winded up taking some backwoods route to get onto the highway – backwoods for Ann Arbor, anyway. I lost a solid 20 minutes for one stupid mistake, and the street design didn’t make turning around any better…
Mother//Daughter | Briana Johnson
Blooming roses wrap themselves around the metal wounds of an accidental car crash. Ruffled white blouses splattered with blood flutter in the cool night air. Iridescent street lamps illuminate the lonely train tracks intersecting the blacktop. Adjacent to the scene is where she gets her teeth cleaned. Neither parties look back on that moment frequently.…
Somewhere in the Middle | Diksha Manglani
A few long hours ago, I was home. Blue suitcases sat in the corner of my room, waiting to be lugged 7,923 miles away. Clothes covered the big bags clumsily but they lay unaffected, incandescent in the mess, Ready to go. Opening the bag to make my last addition, I saw a stream of clean…
A Poetry Explication: “This Compost” by Walt Whitman | Lauren Weiss
Now, let’s begin our journey through time, space, and writing with a poetry explication. You may be wondering Boi, why though? Fret not, for I have reasons for thee, sweet reader. Firstly, I enjoy poetry. At Writer to Writer, we’re all about exploring different modes and forms. How better to impress this upon an audience…
Writing through Exam Season Stress and the Great British Baking Show | Caitlyn Zawideh
As any college student can tell you, the short span of time in between Thanksgiving and winter break is incredibly busy, hectic, and stressful. All of your classes are trying to fit in those last few lessons and assignments before final exams. You need to finalize your schedule for the winter. Summer internship applications deadlines…
Writer To Writer Literary Journal 