• Nonfiction


    by Allison O’Leary I hope you decide to come home one day. I hope that as the days get colder, your tiny house stays warm. I hope you treat her with kindness and patience, and your heart mends itself until the ice melts away.  I hope you can forget all the things half-said and the things we did to hurt each other. I hope you are as full of as much strength and love as the wool your mother weaves into sweaters for your father. I have so much hope for you, my sparrow. You were only trying the best that you could. I will love you and love you…

  • Poetry

    Your hands vs Mine

    by Oceana Gamel-Howes Hands. They all serve the same function, they all have the same basic shape. Some are old, some are rough, some are small. Hands tell a story, and not just through their appearance. The things our hands do are an extension of our brains, our minds, our thoughts; the hub of activity that lives in our skull. That place is where we come from, and our hands are the most important tools we own to express ourselves. Your hands may not seem too different from mine based on appearance, but it’s not about that they look like, it’s about what they can do. Your hands. Yours hands…

  • Poetry

    Trial and Error

    by Roman Dial Trial and error Failure and terror The truth of the matter at hand. Death in a whisper Is so much to weather For the life of a Wife and her man.

  • Poetry

    Emotion of Music

    By Paige Flack Once upon a time, a little girl with wild blonde hair looked over the bluffs on the coast of Cook Inlet The sun was setting and below the sweet hum of the blowing wind, a gentle chorus of birds sang a sweet song Nature was presenting its symphony with absolute perfect timing and poise How beautiful it was That was one of the many times the little girl would be captivated and left in awe of the unfathomable wonders of music Every song had a story and a deep meaning behind it Even the earth, singing praises to our Creator Music is its own language It speaks…

  • Fiction,  Poetry

    Last Train to Cragganock

    By Allison O’Leary She waits for him every evening and his soft words mix with the smoky dusk and the music of the street buskers. 1958 passes in a blur of candlelit laughter, whiskey headaches, and clicking heels. She sees other women waiting for their lovers on street corners, cigarettes daintily clasped between red lips, leaning up against brick walls with the same pearls, same pinned hair, same anxious, begging eyes. She ain’t like them, she’ll say. Her hands tighten around her copy of Patrick MacDonogh poems he gave her the first night, trembling. He’s a upstanding man, a good Catholic. She’ll wear her rosary on the nights she stands…

  • Nonfiction

    Missing the Hype Train: My Thoughts on Season One of Stranger Things

      by Aurelia Gonzalez I would like to start by saying that I almost never get the ride the hype train when it comes to new pop-culture phenomena. If ninety percent of the folks on any given Twitter feed are freaking out about something, it’s a safe bet that I know almost nothing about it, and won’t read, watch, or play that new thing for at least another five months. Due to the quirks of my upbringing and my own lazy, unmotivated free time habits, I think the only thing I’ve ever experienced while it was hot was Pokemon Go. And even that was only because my sister picked it…

  • Nonfiction

    Is Bruce Springsteen Cool?

    by Allison O’Leary There are a number of reasons why I would say Bruce Springsteen is cool. For one, Springsteen himself is a very cool man. In my opinion, Bruce Springsteen’s coolness peaked around 1975-1992, when he had the whole carelessly political, deeply troubled, woodsy vibe that drew in so much of his audience. Pre-’75, ol’ Bruce kind of reminded you of that one guy in your political science class who won’t take his damn newsboy cap off and keeps misquoting Kafka. Greetings from Asbury Park, Bruce. Move on. Springsteen’s heightened cool phase brought us several great albums, including Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town and…

  • Fiction

    Panda Fable

    by Sarah Cooley One fine day, a young girl went skipping through the woods. This girl had an adoration for all wildlife, but her mother had always been careful to warn her about bears. Bears, her mother said, were terrible, carnivorous beasts that would eat anyone that bothered them. The little girl promised her mother that she would be wary of the dreadful bears, but being a very optimistic child, decided that acting friendly couldn’t hurt. She hopped along the woodland path, and came across a cave. She stopped near the entrance and called, “Is there anybody home?” A low voice rumbled, as a brown furry face appeared in the…

  • Academic

    Why Racism Increases Gang Activity

    by Lily Van Alstine There is currently a strong perception that gang violence is a race problem. Many different channels of our media attempt to portray as a problem affecting only communities of color, that can only be solved by communities of color. Just this year, the President of the United States accused undocumented Latinos of being rapists and criminals. This kind of sweeping generalization is, frankly, sickening. And what’s worse is the statement was, sadly, a distillation of his audience’s thoughts on whether certain races are inherently violent. This thinking is widespread and I want to challenge the assumption in two ways. First, I’d like to say, briefly, that…

  • Nonfiction

    Immaculate and Grace

      by Allison O’Leary A picture of two girls sits on my desk. One is a smiley teenager with long braids. The other is small with soulful eyes.They stand, smiling, next to a building in a clearing of the jungle, in matching green uniforms.This picture is of my surrogate sister, Immaculate, and my surrogate daughter, Grace. In 2012, my family began to sponsor ten-year-old Ayiyo Immaculate, a girl from Uganda’s Ssese Islands. While my family paid for Immaculate’s school fees and home care, Immaculate and I wrote letters of encouragement and love to one another for four years. In 2016, my mother and I visited Immaculate at her home, which…