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Leave the Light On
Ryan SpaldingSharpie Sharpened Blades
Sage HardimanSparks
Lilly BratkaTiana’s Band
Karsyn SharpExcerpts from “The Melted Clock Strikes Midnight”
Jacob MartzaklisThey Say Uncivil Blood Makes Uncivil Hands Clean; ‘tis Yours in the Bowl Wherein I Wash
Tayleigh FoldenDEVOUR
Madison Mooreprotecting public media, nature, & the idea of my father
Ada CobbsFruit Shrine
Ajallah ToureLittle Planet
Emily RiebeThe Archivist
Treasure A.So Very Much
Olivia LattyFrankenstein is the Doctor
Tayleigh FoldenToday’s the Day
Jada MartinSomeday I’ll live in New York and I won’t think of you
Audrey L. KinningerAcidic and Sour and Pulsing
Rin MitchellA Post-Autumnal Observation
James Beckbedlam and strife
Everett MartinPersephone in the Age of “Thoughts and Prayers”
Hannah RiegerThe Life Cycle of a Star
Ajallah ToureTicket Out of Here
Cecil MarnellSharpie and Scissors
Hannah RiegerDomestic Bliss
Hannah Levengoodscabbed garden
Hannah LevengoodThe Bearer
Hannah RiegerIllusion of Choice
Teresa MorekSavior Complex
Ada CobbsAfter Ana Mendieta
Kai ClarkSpill My Guts
Hannah LevengoodBreakdancin’ on the Block
Karsyn SharpExcerpts from “Apocalypse”
Jacob Martzaklis
Persephone in the Age of
“Thoughts and Prayers”
I’m forced to observe this foreign blue world
with nothing but a cannonball lodged in my throat—
its metallic taste as steady as breath,
hands tied behind my back,
feet tugged downward by grainy hands,
threatened to be swallowed whole.
In a way, it’s still beautiful.
Its minerals pulse under the surface,
small electric bodies arranging themselves
into patterns only they understand—
a choreography that imagines
life as purposeful.
I gyrate my jaw and try to breathe,
my fingers saw against the cords,
my calves burn and ache.
I long for air,
but it rises anyway, brushing my thighs
in soft familiarity.
Is it actually beautiful?
Or is it another hunger wearing beauty—
draining soil,
bodies,
atoms—
leaving only greed in its ruin?
It swallows us on a long, white tablecloth
under blood-stained gold ceilings
only offering “thoughts and prayers.”
The blueness climbs my abdomen,
spreading over my bony chest.
How can something so beautiful
despise its children?
I live as an obedient calf,
still licking the salt from my knees,
still bowing for brittle feed
that splinters its way into my tiny stomach
and tells me
I should be grateful.
The wave caresses my bottom lip,
cool and deliberate,
slipping into my throat
with the softness of a returning season.
I decide—because deciding is the only power I have—
that we are one of Hades’ toys:
a red metal truck demolished at the fender,
rolled down the same blood-stained hill
until it no longer steers straight.
His hand strokes my head—
gentle, practiced, familiar—
a last kindness before the descent.
The hand falls away,
and for a moment
my throat opens—
just a thread of air,
thin as a spring root.
I do not rise.
I only swallow,
feeling the blue world settle
like a seed
I’m still deciding
if I should keep.
Hannah Rieger
Hannah is a senior Integrated Language Arts major and an aspiring high school English teacher who hopes to share her love and inspiration for poetry with the world and her students. If she isn’t writing or teaching, you can find her on the couch with her kitty, Maki, reading a book.
