Naked and Fallen
Jenna Citrus

Through Process
Emily Plummer

The Annex
Casey Burke

Tearing at Sores
Regis Louis

The Birth of Our Names
Tesneem Madani

Untitled No. 4
Sarah Kronz

Our Condition
Troy Neptune

On the Fundamentals of Art and the Soul
Ayla Maisey

In the Foreground
Aree Rachel Coltharp

Of a Woman
Jackie Vega

Winafret Casto

The Seventeen Seconds of Odette
Rachel Lietzow

Hidden in Sight
Jenna Citrus

Casandra Robledo

The Passage
Liam Trumble

Resentment as a Kind of Relief
Eric Kubacki

Beauty Standards
Sarah Kronz

Over the Kanawha
Claire Shanholtzer

Anne Livingston

Sponsorships & Acknowledgements

For Empty Spaces
Regis Louis

Liam Trumble

Culled from the Flock
Deborah Rocheleau

Searching for Divinity
Madeleine Richey

From Pillars to Dust
Madeleine Richey

As Best I Could Do
Hoda Fakhari

In Your Absence
Emma Croushore

Sarah Kronz

The Shadow of Paris
Anika Maiberger

The Liffey
Kara Wellman

Memories of Home
Audrey Lee

Jackie Vega

The Beauty in Fracturing
Taylor Woosley

Butcher Paper
Casandra Robledo

Human Scavenger
Devin Prasatek

Babel Was a Second Eden
Luke McCusker

The Painting in Gallery 26
Sydney Crago

Sofia Io Celli

Ayla Maisey


The Birth of Our Names

“you are young”

They speak in ancient tongues
and cast a spell upon your hands—
hands that have only known
the touch of unvarnished time, the taste
of cherry. But today they are riddled
with the constellations that others
tried to hold. Your palms now carry
a soft, sweet scent, and you have
forgotten its name. The lights dim,
and your ceiling awakens the stars;
you wonder if you will forget
their names, too. Close your eyes
and forget their dialects:
Lyra will lull you to sleep.

years later, they ask you
what you want to be.
you present them with an hourglass.

When you graduate, you leave behind
the girl who spent her childhood
longing for sun, who bit her lips
to insults, who abandoned a garden
of words that never flourished. She is
Sagittarius, an archer without a bow.
She is hydrogen, a heavy heart
that runs from fireflies. She remembers
the fragrance of cherries, but she will
never taste them again. Time
will distance the two of you;
you have already forgotten her name.
You will learn that stories always
begin with their endings, and that
women are born from supernovae. 

So when Polaris dies, its light will remain:
you have taken its place.


About The Author

Tesneem Madani is a freshman at Eastern Michigan University majoring in biochemistry. She draws inspiration from the university’s greenhouse as well as her faith, and her best writing comes after sunset. She enjoys warm cups of tea, painting and looking after her birds.