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Endless, Nameless

Written by Tami Gordon | Edited by Audree Damiba

& Stacey Dubreus

            Endless, Nameless is a question on the boundaries of SELF in context of the mutual effect humans have on one another. How can we find personal value outside of our PHYSICAL SELF? How much of what we identify as our SELF is a culmination of the personalities of others? How much is reflected in our memories and experiences, especially with those around us? The answer? Humans are dynamic beings constantly changing and taking influence from one another. An essential part of who we are is what we interact with and what we become is what we take from those interactions.

Written by Ogenna Oraedu | Edited by Stacey Dubreus

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Open Letter

dear Sappho,

how do i satisfy 

the woman in me

that craves


 whose body deserves special attention 

sweat reflects off my skin

 beading the band of my waist

  boasting a hundred and fifty pounds of desire and love without words

how much am i worth then? 

               two hundred and seventy academic days

               two chaste pairs of lips on teacups live with lemon-ginger syrup 

               an honest face in a recycled mirror 

               one of innumerable sesame seeds on an everything bagel


Lord, let me be desirable at all times

shrouded in all the things they couldn’t love me for

(love oft forgotten:

 an old house with the plaster peeling

dragged through its worst years and blind through its best

what used to house a Spirit so pure and centered

with a power greater than any wave and a bite more powerful than the strongest of acids-

how could it slowly succumb to nature forever?)  

for they say, to be alone is a punishment worse than death 



the most dangerous journey in life

is the pursuit of Self

 for no one will hurt you, 

      love you, 

         drain you, 

          and fill you,

  like a Spirit who seeks to find their Self

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behind a trim vinyl strip

under the faucet lay the metallic face of an overflow drain

forming two boring eye holes and a mouth

suspended in the water vapor on a glass panel


somebody you need to know


could you imagine it then?

if the vinyl strip turned to a slip of pure white gold

and the gentle bow of your spine shone against the moon

showering, take it all in under city rains 

i imagine my vertebrae extending through sunless spaces

arching my body over the fleshy pleats of fat 

our eyes meet between my knees

while my spine is nearly breaking to fill the optimal shape for the moment

(it hurts - it doesn’t make sense this way)

before relaxing confident and tall


adolescent razor bumps match the grooves on the shower floor

holding your weight as you scrub down your calves 

It felt heavier today

and lubricated in warm water 

fell through my arms

before the weight happily circled the drain

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“...and we should add a window to this tower”

he pats the sand even and licks his lips in concentration

with her eyes turned to the sea

where the sky kisses the horizon, blushing an honest pink 

she dreamed of climbing those soft lavender hills 

while she still had dreams as tall as skyscrapers 

she dreamt of swimming as far as her humanity would take her - her body the only limit

to inhale the air - fresh


the earth supportive under her tiny body 

the finite land -

the lake swaddling her 

the infinite sea


till then, she would build as high as she could

the sand - molded by her fingers 

a poor replica of her mind  


she imagined that the hills had eyes

that she couldn’t see with hers, feeble 

but she could feel them on her 

watching over her 

and she would push and push and push 

till she knew it was time to go home

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Green Bananas 

the lemon sun glares bright yellow and extra hot

mom refused to let me open the balcony door

“it’s hotter out there than it is in here”

and she was right

a great big ceiling fan lolls overhead

there’s a rhythmic humming coming from the walls

the house holds a nice 72 degrees

i sprawl out on the couch and sleep through the rest of the summer

but when the logo of the complex changed:

a neutral green sign, a burlap sack holds the door, and tattered children’s shoes sagging into pot holes 

it was like nothing has shifted at all

around the trim of a clock, 

cars move in and out 

U-Haul trucks and reflective black SUVS for newborns

modified Honda civics and a Wes Andersen blue Pontiac

permanently out of commission


the kitchen is breathing hot

vegetable oil cuts through the air 

mom is making me green plantains and fried eggs


she complains about American food

how everything is so processed and how back in the island their breakfast was in their backyard

how she wishes she could go back one day

how my great uncle owned chickens and those chickens found their way into a dinner plate-

well, she missed most things from her childhood 


the clementine haze falls past modest blinds

 of my own contemptible “kitchen” tucked in the corner of a mobile home

slicing my green banana and massaging the iodized salt and ground black pepper 

 seasoning campus convenience store eggs with Jamaican curries that could burn through the entire Bay State


the table is set 

where matching bowls with blue rims can dance

swimming between a school of forks 

two empty chairs grace the rim of the table

 while generations of thyme grow into a family tree

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