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



What I Want to Know About You

I want to see how you are under fluorescent lighting,
where your periods end and what your commas connect.
If you squirm at the muck of the river, if you’re afraid to slip on the sand,
and where your chains lead you to the lock on a door, a certain shelf
in your childhood kitchen (do you remember the address?), the cave of
crescent moons.
What does your body mimic,
how long can you keep your bare leg in front of the space heater.
Do you carry a backpack with nothing in it, or are your hands sandy
with dirty paper?
How do you portray “I can’t hear you” versus “I didn’t quite hear you”;
can you tell the difference?
Explain to me, “I guess I’ll just sleep on the floor tonight.”
How do you deal with the ugly or nonsensical, like the sweaty sun
rays of October or the splitting of two wholes you thought were
never connected?
Do you give attention to lamp shades and curtains, or do you thrive
on the vivid in the barren?
Do you know what you’ve eaten today?
Do you take care of the blood or do you paint the mirror for a while,
and is that taking care of it?
Where do your edges end, do you know you’re not infinite?

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.