Sandstone Village
Marissa Kopco

Marissa Kopco

Nurture Nest
Margalit Schindler

Star Shooting
Jenna Citrus

Jenna Citrus

It Is All in the Mind
Jenna Citrus

"definitions belong
to the definers, not
the defined"

Emily Sirko

The Sand’s Script
David Albert Solberg

The Night of
the Dance

Devin Prasatek

Cognitive Decline

Charlsa Hensley

Amy Hinman

Jamie Lefevre

Emily Sirko

Dripping Conviction of an Everlasting Beauty
Nada Abdelrahim

Crossword Puzzles
Elizabeth Schoppelrei

Another Restless Night in My Apartment
Charles Childers

A Dark and Early Breakfast
Kara Wellman

I Speak of
Lindsay Hansard

Self Portrait as a Ghost
Jenna Citrus

Pocket Watch
Andrea Ruffier

Katy Knight

Listening In
Elizabeth Schoppelrei

Priceless Advice
Erin Amschlinger

Make Me Like Autumn
Emily Sirko

What I Want to Know About You
Emily Sirko

Time Lines
RoseMary Klein

Danger of Devotion
Jennevie Stephenson

Lies We Tell Our Children
Paige Thulin


Make Me Like Autumn

Take me to the flower fields overlaid with copper.
Let them be on the railing of your 80 sq. ft. apartment
or the space between the front seats of your car, under the sunroof,
but preferably in the space between where your left arm converges
to the uneasy breaths of you.
I’ll change colors with the season,
and leave the old hues behind to stir and blacken together like the
remnants of an unfinished watercolor.
As you watch me burn you’ll write
about how you’re not the type to put out fires but to start them and
foster them,
to tempt the entire town with the smell of
ambitions finally blazing in spite of a rainy forecast
with the harmony of inimitably forested words.
Scarlet and gold and blood-orange are the colors you can even
persuade the pines into tasting;
the palette of an unyielding last shot at endless todays.

About the Author

Emily Sirko is a junior English major at Kent State University. She likes cold weather, film photography and record players, but above all else, she loves to write. She writes when the world is quiet and does not nag, most often in the space between days and on Sunday afternoons. Her writing usually stems from nature and her attempts to bottle a sample of its breath and transfer it into words, not forgetting to inhale some of it for herself along the way.