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

Magazine Update: New Editor

Hi there! This is a human! My name is Vera and I'm a new editor! Happy to say hello! I am currently 13. I love to play the piano, write poetry, endlessly stare at the stars, and take photographs. I also love my dog!

Poetry: Flame, by Andrew R

A few sparks, scattered across space don’t make a fire.
Jumbled words don’t make a poem.
Poetry doesn’t flow from my fingers the way it used to,
Instead it sputters out in uneven bursts,
Explosions of words that don’t make sense,
Torn between a raging wildfire and a dimly-lit candle,
Unbalanced, teetering, ready to burst into flames.

Watercolor Painting: Tally, by Helena S