(Hard)ness
Issue 01: Mirrors
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Issue 01: Mirrors
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vestibulum consectetur libero eu molestie viverra. Etiam neque dui, pellentesque non interdum porttitor, hendrerit eleifend odio. Ut nec nulla sollicitudin, accumsan lorem vel, vestibulum turpis. Proin pretium tincidunt ex in facilisis. Nam suscipit molestie lectus, quis molestie turpis tincidunt eget. Quisque molestie mauris a odio eleifend, nec vestibulum nulla egestas. Pellentesque et elit felis. Nulla id maximus nibh. Phasellus suscipit mattis lacus ut vestibulum. In hac habitasse platea dictumst.
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(Hard)ness
Apply | Fall 2018
Apply | Fall 2018
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
Open Letter
dear Sappho,
how do i satisfy
the woman in me
that craves
“beautiful”
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
but
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
—
CIRCLE THE DRAIN!
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
is
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
Dreams
“...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
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