By Kenneth A Hughes Show me, show me what you see A scared little boy in a circle of uncertainty Whispers in the dark trees unknown He comes in to surrender, Alone Lies and sin fall from his lips The boulder he carries falls and splits Suffering and hell he sees Promises of Growth gossips the trees His head is full of confusion and doubt He’s cold when the stars and fire Go out Blazing high in the sky Sun ray falls Mercy from the sand he cries he calls Like all things in life this too shall end With the rain his soul begins to mend Gratitude washes over…
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Remember your meds. Remember you’re on meds.
By Margo Gillis Good morning my dear, how do you feel Be cautious with your thoughts, they’re rarely real Please remember to take your meds before you start to wane I promise they’ll do their best to keep you sane But when you’ve made it through, be patient with your brain Please remember you’re on meds, your thoughts may refrain From making any sense, due to the chemical imbalance Oh, and don’t forget, when you chide yourself for being numb Remind yourself of the time you nearly bit off your thumb Trying to pull your mind away from the war raging inside By forcing your body to set its survival…
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Coming to Alaska
By Steve Rubinstein The day we met it did not rain until we fell into a rocking slumber side by side her tent held to the metal deck with duct tape mine blown off in Ketchikan her lips so close I thought I heard her calling out a name she swore she did not know. From that day on I saw her shaped from water eyes aglow with each dark cloud spirit lifted, lit, reflected in each puddle forming at her feet from falling rain or so I would remember I believed when I believed in truths I believed in rain.
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And stay.
By Jordan Hales When we’re apart, I keep you in my heart. Haunting feelings of maroon, I hope to see you soon. Our moments are loquacious, and I am no longer anxious. I will welcome the December chill, and my happiness you will fulfill. I long for you when you’re away, when you return, please tell me you’ll stay. And stay.
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Road Less Traveled
Dave Onofrychuk Twenty-some years ago, late at night on a secondary highway in the prairie, on my way to lawn-mowing gig at a Scout camp two hours north of home, a man flagged me down beside his car on the shoulder. Could he get a ride? Pitch dark, no moon. His face, half shadow in the glow of my headlights. Me, nineteen years old. “Sure,” I said. I dropped him off in town, a few miles up the road. Sometimes I look back on that and wonder how much there is to be afraid of. Sometimes I shake my head at myself and shudder.
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Seven-Year Slumber
By Marty Grumblis Cicadas aren’t something you get to experience in Alaska. I spent many years being aware of their existence, but only recently did I travel to a state with large broods. The insects spend seven years underground, a private and dark existence. Then, they uproot their entire way of being. Growing tired of their miserable shells, they crawl from the dirt, they molt, and they scream. A cicada doesn’t live long after it emerges from the ground, only a few weeks to put on the show of a lifetime. Like a true artist, they refuse to let their misery go unheard.
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Bones
Marty Grumblis It takes around 4,000 newtons of force to break the human femur, or roughly 6,000 pounds of compressive pressure. The comeback is brutal, full recovery taking upwards of a year in some cases. A year wasted in the hospital for us in the 21st century, but sometimes I think about our late ancestors, skeletons with healed femurs. Their families and communities cared for them, hunted for them, made sure they were safe without any of our modern luxuries. The world has always been cruel and punishing, but humans have found a way to love each other enough to walk again.
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Fleeting Glory
By Brian Anderson Golden crown with ruby accent Beautiful and elegant Six days later Sodden leaves beneath my toes Birds descend And all is gone.
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Morning, University Lake
By Carrie Harris The glint on the water is long wobbly inconsistent. Sends off sparks rays of light is beautiful. Just like me. In the periphery the brightest and loudest. Just like me. Ripples cross it, toss it. Just like me.
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But
By Jasmine Perea We call her Mother Nature and we claim that we’re trying to save her. But, We build concrete jungles on top of her jungles. Society doesn’t run off of Trees and streams or see the beauty in the bees. Society runs off of greed, and continues to hand it down to their seeds.
