By Allen Ginnett My stomach was rumbling as I tried to pay attention to the teacher. I had not ate all day and I smoked a bunch of weed; this was not the feeling. “Blah, blah-blah, blah, blah-blah.” The teacher continued to talk as I sat in my chair and attempted to listen but the rumbling in stomach was too intense. It was like a baby was kicking inside me; weird. “Blah, Blah-blah, blah and I swear Allen has a six year old inside of him sometimes the way he structures his writing.” Bam, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything in my entire life was put in…

By Marcel Bergeron 2003 was my final year of high school. It would also be the last time I would attend a formal school for over a decade. I spent most of my high school career battling disappointment, fear, and confusion as I struggled to complete my classes. I eventually came to a point in life when I realized that to advance in my career, I needed to further my education. With a good support system and a lot of encouragement from my wife, I mustered the courage in 2016 to apply for college at Alaska Pacific University. That spring I opened a letter from APU and read the black,…

By Fari Sylvester My mother grew up without a lot of family traditions, so she and her four brother and four sisters decided to create a tradition of their own. In 2000, we took our first family trip with 45 people to Homer for the Memorial Weekend. My mom and her siblings grew up in Homer, so this wasn’t their first stroll down the Homer beach. My mom was excited to share their stories and reminisce about life growing up. Fast forward to 2017, and we have kept this tradition alive. My brother Derrick has become the leader of the pack. There are 34 of us first-cousins and it’s a…

by Quinn Berry This was the summer before my sophomore year of high school, so about four or five years ago. I was out in my backyard digging holes to plant apple trees. Although the trees we were going to plant weren’t my favorite (Red Delicious is obviously the best choice, considering it has the word “delicious” in the name), I wasn’t going to argue with trees that provided apples without making a trip to the store. What I was a bit upset about was the fact that I had to dig the holes on my own. Being not the smartest 15-year-old, I decided to start digging the holes only…

by Allen Ginnett I rap under the alias, “Based Jesus.” I have the spirit of Jesus within me. I have sacrificed a lot to do what I want. Life wasn’t always like this for me. At one time I was young and naive, wandering around vulnerable to the world’s danger, unaware of what force was driving my existence. My friend Sergio has an older brother named Donte. Donte was sort of the bully growing up. But not like the bully that you might of grew up with the cliche make fun of you or give you a wedgie type bully, I’m talking more of like a drug dealer on edge,…

by Johanna Kumpula I grew up missing someone I never knew; a role model turned monster. When I was born, my father started drinking. He would leave in the middle of the night and hole up in a musky bar with cheap beer and stale peanuts. Sometimes he would be gone for weeks, with no explanatory note or phone call to check in. When he finally did return home, he smelled of alcohol and fruity perfume. My mom would be worried of course, all she wanted was a simple explanation on why he didn’t call, but his excuses were pathetic. He would get mad, because she didn’t believe him or…

by Isabella Valdez Anyway, there’s this video circulating of me reciting Ocean Vuong’s “Anaphora as a Coping Mechanism,” and it’s a pretty clean read for the first minute and forty-two seconds, until, at one forty-three, I stumble over the phrase “smoke-soaked skin,” first straying, “snoke-smoked,” then sputtering out, “soaked,” so off beat it grows wings and abandons the poem, completely fucking up the meter, and it’s at this point that you, the viewer, can tell that I’m for real affected by this collection of words even though, and this footnote is not included in the recording, I’ve never actually lost someone I’ve loved. But, really, I’m concerned for myself here.…

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…

by Sarah Cooley   I have a difficult time recalling my childhood memories.  Not to say that I have amnesia, but most everything from during the first several years of my toddling existence just sort of blends together and coalesces into a sort of dreamy mess where nothing is definite or distinct.  Sometimes this is annoying and disappointing, of course I want to remember my first time sledding or riding in a canoe, but even when trying to recall the memories as best as I can—I only ever seem to get vague a sensation of color and sound, like a blurry screenshot from an old foreign film.  Other times I suppose my problem is a bit of a blessing in disguise—there are some events that I know happened back then that make…