Poetry: Blue, by Tony B

She was

A little girl, laughing
River water wrapped around her ankles

The sun’s reflection on the blue like a pearl studded scarf

A glorious, sparkling rope

That pulled her down when the ground dropped away

Bubbles escaping upwards

In blue

Breath leaving her lips,

A boy pulled her out

And she grew up

To air and sunlight and the blue of the sky

And she lived, but she hated the water

She lived more than the others

She shared her life with us, and traveled

Her garden was a castle’s moat

Once filled with blue, now green

She was wild and proud

And the world came to claim her

Like the motorcycle her friends taught her to ride,

She crashed

On her wedding day, she wore the same color

As the one her husband made her feel:

Blue

Digital Art: Outlandish Monster, by Ignatio S

Photography: Stonehenge, by Lee D

Photography: Water and Sky, by Andrew R

Poetry: Up There, By Avery M

Up there

In a cloudless sky,

I fly free.

Free from the chains of the Earth

O'er the lush ancient green

Trees that rise

Falling short the distance of the roads I wander

Poetry: Acceptance, By Avery M

The land is in a funny disarray,

To the left there are patches of snow unmelted

To the right the trees are starting to bud,

The atmosphere is heavy,

It carries the decayed memories of a past unspoken,

Tomorrow it will rain

And flood tears of a thousand sorrows

Each a burden let go

And after life will return to this sacred land.

Digital Art: Frog/Gun, By Ignatio S

Poetry: Luster, By Sarah W

in the cabin bathroom, i watch you smear vaseline across your eyelids.
your wet hair is tucked neatly behind your ears, bleeding slowly
onto the spaghetti-strap tank top you will fight our counselor over.

later, in the darkened hockey rink, your whole face has turned glossy
by the time you ask me to do the dance i used to know.
my vision blurs as i spin-- the only thing left is the shine on your cheekbones
and tracing the line of your upper lip.

you are the first person to call me anything other than my name,
but i know you only do it when you need something from me.

still, in the middle of the night, when i see your fingers
curled over the railing of my bunk bed
and your eyes gleaming as you whisper,
i am glad to have a use, even for a second.

i snap a picture of you,
legs hanging off the picnic table,
with my disposable camera.
the flash leaves you blinking hard, laughing.
i promise that i will send you a copy, later.

i never do. instead,
i find the pictures years later
and run a finger over your laminated face,
glowing under the summer sun.

Charcoal Drawing: Vases, by Lee D

Photography: Flowers, by Sara T

Digital Art: Hostage, by Ignatio S